

Class _ZE_Zl4 


Book ■ F4 ^ 
GopightN? ix 


CjD£»iIGHT DEPOSIT. 






/ 


HARRY DEE; 

OR, 

MAKING IT OUT. 


BY 




KRANCIS J. KINN, S.J, 

It 

Author of Percy Wynn,' “ Torn Playfair^' etc. 


A 


. .->j2 






New York, Cincinnati, Chicago: 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 

1893. 


, \ 






V 


Copyright, 1892, by Benziger Brothers. 


• 111 a moment he arose with the elhld supported on his aim.” Pa,o 


4 





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■■ -• ^--v. 


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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

In which I feel compelled to talk much about my early 
years, and take a journey into the country to spend 
Christmas night in a very mysterious house, . . 7 

CHAPTER II. 

In which Mrs. Raynor and my uncle have a passage at arms, 
a will is read, and I go to sleep in an unhappy frame of 
mind, . . . . . . . . .15 

CHAPTER III. 

In which I awaken to a sad Christmas, . . . .24 

CHAPTER IV. 

In which I hear bad news, have brain fever, and after three 

very gloomy years enter upon a new life, . . .26 

CHAPTER V. 

In which I fall out with a young rascal, fall in with new 
friends, one of whom falls upon said young rascal, 
and enter the College of St. Maure’s in the best of 


spirits, 30 

CHAPTER VI. 

In which the Blue Clippers get a new member and the col- 
lege boys a half-holiday, ...... 42 

CHAPTER VII. 

In which we go swimming and meet with an adventure, . 49 

CHAPTER VIII. 

In which we fight our battles o’er again and spend a pleas- 
ant evening in the infirmary, . . . . *55 

3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PAGE 

In which I have a bad night and produce a sensation in the 

dormitory 6o 


CHAPTER X. 

In which we divide our attention between baseball and Latin, 

^ and are prepared for a contest in the one and an exami- 
nation in the other, ....... 65 

CHAPTER XL 

In which Percy Wynn meets with a failure, . . .72 

CHAPTER XIL 

In which is begun a full and true account of a great base- 
ball game, . . . -75 

CHAPTER XIII. 

In which is continued and concluded the account of our 
great game of baseball, and in which I make an agree- 
ment with Tom Playfair which, as the reader will find 
out later, has an important bearing upon this story, . 87 

CHAPTER XIV. 

In which Frank Burdock catches a big fish and makes the 

acquaintance of the haughty owner of a yacht, . . 98 

CHAPTER XV. 

In which this story is within a tittle of losing its chief charac- 
ters and thus coming to an abrupt end, . . . 108 

CHAPTER XVI. 

In which we attend a reception, and spend a night at 

Mr. Scarborough’s villa, 125 

CHAPTER XVII. 

In which Tom and I spend a night in the “haunted house,” 

and in which I meet with an extraordinary adventure, 139 


CONTENTS. 


5 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

PAGE 

In which the hall clock tells a story, 151 

CHAPTER XIX. 

In which the chapter proceeds from gay to grave, from 

lively to severe, 157 

CHAPTER XX. 

In which Willie Tipp changes his name and becomes the 

leader of a mischievous organization, . . . .166 

CHAPTER XXI. 

In which Tom Playfair and Percy Wynn come to Tipp’s 

rescue, 176 

CHAPTER XXII. 

In which Percy Wynn goes barefoot for the first and only 

time in his life, 183 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

In which Tipp makes a speech, ..... 192 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

In which is given some account of the inter-collegiate con- 
test, and in which we bid our kind professor a long 
farewell, . . . . . . . . .198 

CHAPTER .XXV. 

In which Rose Scarborough renews our 'acquaintance, and 

sings us several astonishing songs, .... 206 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

In which a strange revelation throws new light on the 

mystery of my uncle’s death, . . . . .210 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

In which Mrs, Raynor continues her strange story, and 
introduces me to two charming little ones, who enter- 
tain me with a novel fairy tale, ..... 220 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

PAGE 

In which Tom Playfair surprises us 232 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

In which Mr. Lang obtains further data concerning the 

missing money, and Tom bids us farewell, . . 236 

CHAPTER XXX. 

In which I have the doubtful pleasure of renewing Mr. 

James Caggett’s acquaintance, 242 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

In which Mr. Caggett allows himself to be persuaded to 

spend a night in my uncle’s house 249 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

In which I get a letter and make a discovery, . . . 253 

^ CHAPTER XXXIH. 

In which Caggett makes a startling disclosure and I pass 

through the great crisis of my life, .... 262 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

In which Percy Wynn throws additional light upon Caggett’s 

narrative, and puts an end to the mystery, . . .270 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

In which Harr}' Dee has some difficulty in bringing his 

story to a close, 278 


HARRY DEE. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH I FEEL COMPELLED TO TALK MUCH ABOUT MY 
EARLY ^ YEARS, AND TAKE A JOURNEY INTO THE 
COUNTRY TO SPEND CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN A VERY 
MYSTERIOUS HOUSE. 

1 H0PE the reader may not be bored; but I find it 
necessary to begin my story with a great deal 
about my insignificant self. I am not the hero; and 
yet, owing to a strange run of circumstances, am so 
wrapped up with the characters and events which are 
to figure in my narrative that I find it impossible 
to make any sort of a beginning without telling 
somewhat of my own early history. 

And, to begin with, the reader must know that 
when still a very small boy I succeeded in throw- 
ing my father and mother into a state of terror by 
an extraordinary piece of conduct. One night my 
mother, who had a habit of stealing to my little 
bed to tuck me in securely and repeat her good- 
night kiss, found my bed empty. Not a little star- 
tled, she instituted a diligent search, and to her 
horror discovered me walking, fast asleep, up and 
down our garden walk. 

Of course the family doctor was called in at once. 

7 


8 


HARRY DEE. 


He asked me all sorts of questions and made me so 
nervous that I put an end to the examination by 
bursting into tears. 

“ Madam,” he at length said in grave tones to my 
mother, “you needn’t be at all alarmed at Harry’s 
somnambulistic propensities; he’ll probably grow 
out of them. It’s a — in fact, it’s an idiosyncrasy.” 

For which he charged the usual fee. 

The doctor’s learned opinion of my case was on 
the point of bringing my distress to a climax, when 
my father led me from the room, and informed me 
that “somnambulistic propensities” merely meant 
that I had a tendency to walk in my sleep, and that 
its being an idiosyncrasy of mine was another way 
of saying that it was very odd on my part to do so. 

“But,” added my father, “you needn’t bother 
about it. Some people snore in their sleep; others 
talk in their sleep; that’s the sort of idiosyncrasy 
they have. Yours is to walk.” 

My father’s way of putting it not only dispelled 
my alarm, but even made me somewhat proud of 
myself. I at once looked upon sleep-walking as 
an accomplishment. Even at this moment I can- 
not without smiling recall my conversation with 
Willie Styles, a very small boy with very large eyes, 
who lived within a few doors of us. 

“Willie,” I began, hastening over to his house, 
“do you snore in your sleep?” 

“ No,” said Willie. 

“ Do you talk in your sleep?” 

“ No.” 

“ Do you walk in your sleep?” 

“No.” 

I looked on him with something akin to contempt 


HARRY DEE. 


9 


as I added, “Willie, you haven’t got any iddy-sink- 
racing. ” 

“What!” gasped Willie. 

“I can walk in my sleep, Willie, and that’s an 
iddy-sink-racing.” 

Proud both of the fact and the declaration, I de- 
parted to communicate the news to our cook and 
house-maid, leaving Willie in a state of perplexity 
not to be described. 

The doctor’s opinion, however, did not reassure 
my mother. Thenceforth she rested but little at 
night. Seated in an arm-chair beside my bed, she 
would clasp my little hand in hers and sleep as best 
she might. Night after night she took her station 
beside me, and with sweet sadness do I remember 
how often that soft, caressing mother’s hand would 
gently stroke my brow; how often the mild, sweet 
face of my mother would bend down to mine as I 
awoke with a start from some troubled dream, and 
how, as her loving eyes fixed themselves on me, her 
lips would touch my cheek, while her soothing voice 
would charm my dream-haunted fancies into peace. 

One morning — it was in my ninth year — I awoke 
bright and early, and, as was my custom, kissed the 
hand that clasped mine. But the hand I had ever 
found so gentle, so quick to answer my slightest 
touch, was cold and irresponsive. I raised my eyes 
to my mother’s face; the smile I knew and loved 
so well still lingered about her features. But there 
was something in her face which I had never seen 
before, a weird beauty not of this world, which 
caused me to leap from my bed and clasp her in my 
arms and call her name. My dear mother gave me 
no answer. God had called her away. 


lO 


HARRY DEE. 


I pass over in silence this, the supreme sorrow of 
my life. 

Even during the first sharp agony of loss, it be- 
came evident to my father that it would not be 
prudent to leave me unguarded. The death of my 
mother had a very disturbing effect on me, and my 
restlessness during sleeping hours grew more alarm- 
ing. The question then arose as to the choice of a 
night-watch. My father was not easily satisfied. 
He sought for some fit person throughout the city, 
but apparently to no purpose. At length he resolved 
to advertise in our daily paper, the Sessionsville Dem- 
ocrat.^ and accordingly the following appeared in 
its columns: 

W ANTED — A night-nurse. Must be steady and thoroughly 
reliable. Apply for further information to John Dee, 13 
Madison St., Sessionsville, Missouri. 

Quite promptly that morning the applicants came 
pouring in. My father and the doctor made short 
work of some, found great difficulty in putting off 
others, and finally, through sheer desperation, chose 
the least of many evils, as they thought, in the per- 
son of a woman giving her name as Mrs. Ada Ray- 
nor. As I say, it was for lack of a more satisfactory 
applicant that they chose her; for her evidences of 
a “character,” as the saying is, were dark. To 
their searching inquiries her answers were vague and 
unsatisfactory. Whence she came, what were her 
past circumstances, they strove vainly to ascertain. 
The words into which she put her answers, while 
giving evidence of a good education, and, indeed, 
of no little refinement, only served to thicken the 
mist that obscured her past. 

For all that she was duly installed, though my 


HARRY DEE. 


1 1 

father frowned and the doctor shook his learned 
head. As for myself, notwithstanding the fact that 
I was at an age when inquisitiveness is keen, I was 
not so difficult to please in the matter as my elders. 
What does the small boy care for the past when the 
present is so full of novelties and delights, when the 
future is brimming with unknown wonders and mag- 
nificent possibilities ? Here was Mrs. Raynor bright 
and smiling, with pleasant answers to all my ques- 
tions and many a gorgeous Eastern tale to while 
away an idle hour. Her past was nothing to me. 
In brief, I came very shortly to love her much; and 
though my father and the doctor could not be 
brought to believe it, she certainly seemed to return 
-tny affection. She had a soft, gentle way of calling 
me “ Harry ” which brought back vividly the tones 
and accents of my dear mother. There were other 
gracious resemblances, moreover, which I discovered 
for myself; and it came about quite naturally in 
course of time that I began to call her mamma. 
There was no doubt about the radiant smile which 
greeted me when I first addressed her by that en- 
dearing name. Nor at the time did it seem as 
though I had in anywise misapplied the term. To 
me she was in fact a mother; in her I placed all the 
confidence of a child’s innocent, unsuspecting love. 
That love, as after-events go to prove, was within 
a little of wrecking my life. Every term of affec- 
tion was afterward to be paid for in days of sick- 
ness and sorrow. 

Beyond doubt Mrs. Raynor was a faithful nurse. 
It was her w^ont to sleep from early morn till noon- 
time. But afternoon and night she was my con- 
stant attendant. Whenever my “ iddy-sink-racing” 


HARRY DEE. 


I 2 

threatened me, she was at once beside me to soothe 
me and restrain my wanderings. My love grew 
with the months, and served to take off much of 
the bitterness of that first sharp grief. 

And now let me begin my story proper. It was 
about sundown of the 21st of December, the day 
after my eleventh birthday. I was lying on a rug 
close to the glowing hearth-fire in our sitting-room, 
reading for the tenth or eleventh time the absorb- 
ing tale of “ Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” and 
had just reached that exciting passage where Mor- 
giana pours boiling water into the jars wherein the 
thieves have hidden themselves, when a brisk, firm 
step without brought me to my feet. Well did I 
know my father’s footfall, and I hastened from the 
sitting-room into the hallway to meet and greet him 
at the door. To me his return was ever one of the 
pleasantest moments of the day. As he opened the 
door he always found me waiting within; and rais- 
ing me in his arms would give me a fatherly kiss. 
That was all. He rarely spoke. On this occasion, 
however, he did speak. 

“ Harry, I’ve great news for you,” he began as he 
returned me to the floor. “ Of course you remember 
your Uncle James, don’t you?” 

I shivered at the name. Uncle James had been 
the bugaboo of my life. He had been face to face 
with me only once, but that was enough. The in- 
terview was a short one, yet short as it was my uncle 
had spoken so harshly, frowned so forbiddingly, and 
made such ugly faces that I had retired that night 
with my fancy at the complete mercy of all manner 
of hideous pictures. 

My fear and aversion were not astonishing, in- 


HARRY DEE. 


13 


asmuch as my uncle seemed to inspire the like feel- 
ings into all who came in contact with him. The 
old man was universally detested. From all I had 
heard he was very rich and very ugly, very harsh 
and very miserly. 

“Remember Uncle James, papa? Indeed I do!” 

“Well, something strange has come over him — 
poor James! — he’s a diamond in the rough; for he’s 
really making a show of being genial. Look at 
this!” 

And unbuttoning his overcoat, my father took out 
a large yellow envelope, from which he produced a 
letter. 

“See!” he said, holding it before my eyes. 

“Pead for me, papa; you know I can’t read writ- 
ing.” 

“Listen, then; I won’t skip a word.” 

Tower Hill Mansion, December 2o» 18 — . 

Mr. John Dee, 

Dear Brother; — 

Here my father paused, while the muscles of his 
face twitched; from after-experiences I infer that 
he was unable to reconcile his knowledge of my 
uncle with the warmth of affection implied in the 
term “dear.” He went on reading, however, with- 
out comment : 

I want your son Harry, my nephew Harry, to come to my 
house Christmas eve and stay over night. Important business. 

Your brother, 

James Dee. 

If my father counted on my being gratified by the 
wish thus curtly expressed in this letter, he was cer- 


14 


HARRY DEE, 


tainly deceived. The thought of passing a night 
under my uncle’s roof was unbearable. 

“Opapa! I don’t want to go.” 

“Why not, Harry ?” 

I must confess that at this stage of the conversa- 
tion I blubbered. 

“ B-b-b-because he’s an ugly old man; and he 
lives away out in the country — and — and ” — here 
my grief grew more intense — “ I c-c-c-can’t b-b-bear 
him.” 

“Well, Harry! I didn’t imagine you were such 
a coward.” 

This put a check to my tears. 

“And to think,” continued my father, a trifle 
sternly, “ that a son of mine should speak of my 
brother as an ‘ugly old man.’ ” 

I began to feel uncomfortable. I realized that I 
had put myself in the wrong. After all, he was my 
uncle. 

“ Can Mrs. Raynor come along ?” I asked conces- 
sively. 

“Of course. That’s understood. I’ll speak to 
her at once.” 

But, no less to my surpri.se than to my father’s, 
upon his asking her to accompany me, she showed 
the greatest agitation. 

“ Is it necessary for me to go?” she asked, after a 
moment of reflection. 

“Well, it’s not absolutely necessary,” answered 
my father. 

“Then I’ll not go.” 

My father changed countenance. 

“Mamma,” I cried, catching her hand, “will you 
let me go alone to that house in the country ?” 


HARRY DEE. 15 

Mrs. Raynor drew me close and her face soft- 
ened. 

“My dear Harry, I’ll miss you very much while 
you’re gone; but it will be better that some one else 
go with you.” 

“But, mamma, I want you. Won’t you please 
come ?” 

In a voice strangely agitated, Mrs. Raynor an- 
swered : 

“I’ll go. Yes, for your sake, Harry, I’ll go.” 

On the 24th of December, accordingly, we took 
the morning train for Tower Hill, and I must say 
the day passed very pleasantly indeed. Toward 
nightfall we reached Tower Hill station, where we 
found awaiting us a rusty carriage under charge of 
a rusty driver, who shut us in with a sullen jerk 
and drove us off at moderate speed to my uncle’s 
mansion. 

That night proved to be an eventful one in my 
life. 


CHAPTER II. 

IN WHICH MRS. RA YNOR AND MY UNCLE HA VE A PASS A GE 
AT ARMS, A WILL IS READ, AND I GO TO SLEEP IN 
AN UNHAPPY FRAME OF MIND. 

T ower hill mansion, though a stately 

pile, was cold and forbidding. “ Keep out ” 
seemed to be the dominant note of its front. Nor 
did the interior belie the exterior. The furniture 
from hall to library and from library to sleeping 
apartments was severe, massive, and gloomy. 

I shivered as the surly driver rang the door-bell; 
I shivered as a surlier servant threw open the door 


i6 


HARRY DEE. 


groaning on its hinges; and you may be sure that 
I clung to my nurse’s hand from the moment of our 
entering through the gloomy portals to the moment 
that we were conducted into the gloomy, heavy-cur- 
tained library, where, surrounded by long, gloomy 
shelves, filled with dark, ugly, musty, forbidding 
books, sat my old uncle, gloomiest among the 
gloomy. 

As I entered, my nurse gave unmistakable signs 
of agitation; her face worked convulsively; and I 
fancied that she was stifling a rising sob. How her 
hand trembled in mine as we came face to face 
with my uncle! He raised his cold, heavily-shaded 
eyes and glanced at me long and sternly. Yet more 
sternly did he stare at Mrs. Raynor. 

He had not changed in appearance since I last 
met him. His face, from the pointed chin to the 
wrinkled forehead, was yellow and sombre, and his 
long, thin nose and thin, bloodless lips were as 
cold as of yore. His sunken eyes seemed to dwell 
in a region of perpetual frost, and his neglected 
hair, falling about his shoulders, appeared to be 
whitened not so much by the touches of old age as 
by the polar atmosphere he carried about him. As 
I gazed at him in fear and trembling I wondered 
whether it were possible for him to smile. 

“Boy,” he began, while I was still ruminating 
upon this remote possibility, “who is that woman 
with you ?” 

“ Mrs. Raynor, Uncle James. She has my mother’s 
place.” 

“Your mother’s place!” he repeated, and his voice 
was as the movement of an ancient door upon his- 
torical hinges. “Pah! You’re too old to be cod- 


HARRY DEE, 


17 


died, boy. Your nurse wasn’t invited here. Wo- 
man,” he added, and all the rusty rheumatic hinges 
of his voice now came into full play, “ go about your 
business.” 

Previous to the first mention of my uncle’s name 
to Mrs. Raynor, my father had thought her a woman 
whose passions were conquered and dead. Her 
agitation had undeceived him. And now that she 
stood face to face with this forbidding old man, 
she manifested that there were other smouldering 
fires in her bosom; for the flash of anger which shot 
from her eyes as my uncle addressed her filled me 
with awe. 

“God knows,” she cried, still holding my hand, 
“ this is the last place upon the earth I would come 
to, Mr. James Dee. I know you. So does my 
husband — so did he, rather. For he died penniless, 
a victim to your treachery.” 

At Mrs. Raynor’s first words my uncle gave a per- 
ceptible start. As she went on, her voice gathering 
passion and volume with each word, his yellow face 
grew paler. There was that in the words of this 
woman which seemed to pierce his very soul ; and 
when my attendant had uttered these, the first words 
in which I had ever heard her make allusion to her 
former history, my uncle gave a gasp — was, it fear 
or anger? — rose from his chair, raised his skinny 
hand, and pointecf with his skinny finger toward the 
door. 

“Go away, woman, go away! Leave this house 
at once!” he snarled, 

“I’ll go, too, uncle, if you please,” I stammered 
forth. 

“No, boy; you remain.” 

2 


i8 


HARRY DEE. 


I was terrified beyond measure. Catching my 
nurse’s arms, I cried out: 

“ Mamma, I’m going to stay with you. If you 
go, I go too. ” 

“Come on, Harry,’’ answered my nurse, resuming 
the gentle tones my ear knew so well. “ We’ll leave 
this wretched house together; there’s a curse hang- 
ing over it, and some day it will fall.” And turn- 
ing, we were leaving the library. 

“Hold on! Stay! One minute!’’ How the old 
rheumatic hinges of his voice rasped as he called out 
to us in these words. 

Mrs. Raynor paused and faced him; her bosom 
heaving and her eyes still sparkling with anger, 
she stood like a deer at bay. 

“Since you stick so close together,’’ he went on, 
“I’ll have to give in for this time. Woman, you 
may stay.’’ 

“But I won’t stay,’’ returned Mrs. Raynor, her 
voice trembling. “ It is not enough, O my God, that 
he should have brought ruin to the husband, but 
now he must insult the wife!” 

“I’ll not stay either,” I cried. “Mamma, take 
me away from this awful place.” 

The old man lifted his hand to secure our atten- 
tion. His face had changed again. He endeavored 
to look benevolent; there was a contraction of the 
facial muscles which in itself had the appearance of 
an attack of paralysis, but which, under the circum- 
stances, I took to be an attempt to smile. He 
might as well have tried to fly. 

“Madam,” he said, with a bow as stiff as a re- 
cently-rinsed towel in midwinter, “ I ask your par- 


HARRY DEE. 


19 


don. I was harsh. I see that you love that boy. 
For his sake, I ask you to stay.” 

Mrs. Raynor hesitated. 

“ I assure you that to-night I have something to 
settle which is of great importance to the boy’s fu- 
ture career; and I have made up my mind that 
Harry is to spend the night here and take his Christ- 
inas dinner with me to-morrow.” 

I hope I am not mistaken, but I thought, even 
as my uncle spoke, that a little of the Christmas 
spirit of peace and good-will shone in his cold, hard 
eye. In the light of after-events, it is consoling for 
me to believe this much of that wretched, loveless 
man. 

After a short pause Mrs. Raynor made answer: 

“ For Harry’s sake I will stay.” 

“Very well,” said my uncle calmly, though I 
thought that he was secretly pleased. “ Sit down 
then.’* 

We complied with this abrupt bit of consideration, 
whereupon my uncle pulled a bell-rope beside his 
desk. 

In there came presently the hideous, scowling ser- 
vant who had admitted us into the house. In the 
matter of downright ugliness he set my uncle in 
quite a favorable light. 

“Caggett,” rasped my uncle, returning that gen- 
tleman’s scowl of inquiry with a scowl of impatience, 
‘‘tell the cook to come here at once.” 

Caggett gave a grunt, took his leave, and presently 
returned accompanied by a portly woman who en- 
tered the room with her arms akimbo. 

“ Caggett,” growled my uncle. 


20 


HARRY DEE. 


A deep, guttural grunt from Caggett gave evidence 
that that giddy servant was all attention. 

“Caggett, leave the room.” 

There was no doubt about Caggett’s versatility 
and power in the way of growling and scowling now. 
He departed with a snarl which brought into play 
his ugly yellow teeth; he backed his way out of 
the room, and after bestowing a look upon me which 
forced me to hold my breath for fear, shut the door 
upon himself with a bang. 

“Now,” continued my amiable relative, “women 
both, and you, boy — are you listening?” The last 
three words he brought out with a burst — a sound 
as of unmusical cymbals brought clanging together 
by a furious hand. 

“Yes, sir,” I answered timidly, almost frightened 
out of my senses. I was clasping my nurse’s hand, 
and even in my excess of terror could not but no- 
tice that the strong tempest of passion was yet rag- 
ing in her bosom. She was muttering to herself, 
inaudibly for the most part, although once or twice 
the words “ wretch,” “ villain,” “ scoundrel,” and the 
like came hissing from between her set teeth. I 
felt that I was growing in fear of her too. 

Are. you listening, cook?” said my uncle. 

“I’m a-listenin’, sir.” 

“That’s what I want. Now listen closely.” 

He took up a paper from his desk. It was ap- 
parently yellowed with age. He held it for some 
time in his hands, then, without further prelude, read 
aloud something to this effect: 

“I, James Dee, being of sound mind, do hereby 
devise and bequeath all my money and all my pos- 


HARRY DEE. 


2 I 

sessions of what kind and value soever to my serv- 
ing-man, James Caggett.” 

The old man here raised his eyes and threw his 
gaze upon me. 

“Your father and I, boy, had a quarrel once,” he 
explained, “and I made up my mind that he should 
not get one cent of my money. Caggett struck me 
as the man who’d see to that. But blood is blood. 
Caggett’s not of my family and you are. Besides,” 
continued the old gentleman, in the same strain of 
simplicity and candor, “I hate Caggett.” 

“Look!” continued my sensational uncle. He 
tore the paper into bits and threw the pieces upon 
the gloomy, smouldering hearth-fire. 

“ Listen again.” He selected another paper from 
his desk and read in substance: 

“ I, James Dee, being of sound mind, do hereby 
devise and bequeath all my money and all my prop- 
erty and all my possessions of what kind and value 
soever to my nephew, Harry Dee. There! Have 
you all heard ?” 

“ Is that all ?” asked Mrs. Raynor. 

“ Yes,” snapped my uncle. “The rest is for the 
lawyers.” 

“I do not speak on my own account,” said Mrs. 
Raynor, “ for there are others to consider, Mr. James 
Dee. If I tell you who I am, will you promise to 
make some restitution to me for the wrongs you once 
inflicted upon my husband?” 

“We’ll talk about that another time, woman.” 

“But look! You are in my husband’s debt for 
fifty thousand dollars. I claim that money, and I 
will get it, too.” 


22 


HARRY DEE. 


“Another time, woman.” 

“Now’s the time,” continued Mrs. Raynor, in a 
solemn voice. “ Can you promise yourself a long 
life? You’re an old man.” 

My uncle looked at her quite mildly. 

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I’m an old man — an old 
man. Boy,” he continued, turning to me, “I want 
to see you alone for a moment in my room. But 
business first. Women both, please sign this will 
as witnesses.” 

The “women both” complied. Whereupon my 
uncle turned to me with, “You’re a rich man now, 
boy.” 

Then he pulled the bell, in response to which 
Caggett entered. 

“ Caggett, show this woman the boy’s room, and 
see that the fire is in good order. Breakfast at 
seven, woman, dinner at one.” 

Then, taking my hand, he conducted me up the 
broad stairway and into the room at the head of the 
stairs, leaving Mrs. Raynor in charge of Caggett. 

He drew a chair beside the hearth-fire, and seat- 
ing me in it, stood looking down on me not unkindly. 

“ Harry,” he said at length, and I was awed by the 
softness of his voice, “you’re the picture of my 
mother.” 

I looked up into his face. His eyes were dim 
and there was a faint quivering about his lips. 

“ I was a little boy like you when she died — poor 
mother! If she had lived I might have been differ- 
ent.” 

As I continued to gaze at my uncle I wondered 
how I could ever have called him an ugly old man. 
Now he looked quite like my father. 


IIAJ^RV DEE. 


23 


“ Harry, I’m getting old, and if I die soon you 
must get your papa to see to my accounts and to 
make it right with any people who have claims upon 
my money.” 

“Yes, Uncle James. ” 

“I’ve been mean, Harry. And — and — to-mor- 
row’s Christmas. You’re an innocent child — won’t 
you— won’t you pray for me to-morrow?” 

“O uncle!” I cried, jumping to my feet and catch- 
ing his hand. 

In an instant my uncle had stooped down and 
kissed me lightly on the forehead. He straightened 
up at once and veiled his face in his hands. For 
a moment he was silent. Then, with an effort, he 
spoke: 

“Breakfast at seven, boy; dinner at one. Go to 
bed.” And before I had recovered from my surprise 
at this abrupt change he was seated at his desk, and 
with the old face set into its habitual frown, was 
writing as though I were a thousand miles away. 

I made my way into the long corridor, and perceiv- 
ing light streaming from an open door at the further 
end, hastened toward it. Mrs. Raynor was awaiting 
me. Her agitation was extreme, and I could see 
that she had been weeping. 

Mrs. Raynor was communicative that night. In 
a voice broken with emotion she related something 
of her past history. It was a tale of sorrow and 
wrong, a tale that involved a very dark chapter in 
my uncle’s life. I do not feel at liberty, nor do 
I consider it pertinent to my narrative, to enter into 
that sad story. As I have since learned, there was 
no word of exaggeration in her account, and as I 
listened I was thrilled with horror and inflamed with 


24 


HARRY DEE, 


indignation. Alas! the affecting scene with my 
uncle was driven from my memory like a dim dream 
and — as I write I ask God to forgive me for it — I 
allowed my feelings of hatred toward my uncle full 
play. On that night, hallowed as it should have 
been by the sweet sentiments of peace and love, I 
yielded to such passions as I humbly trust I shall 
never yield to again. 

It was late when I fell asleep, and I regret to say 
that I carried into a troubled dreamland my bitter 
thoughts against the brother of my father. 


CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH I AWAKEN TO A SAD CHRISTMAS. 

I WAS habitually an early riser. On this Christ- 
mas morning, however, it must have been full 
seven o’clock when I awoke. 

I shall never forget that awakening; for it was 
not the slow transition from unconsciousness to semi- 
consciousness, where sleeping and waking join 
hands. No; I passed from sound sleep to perfect 
wakefulness with a start, jumped from my bed and 
uttered a short gasp of terror. I was alone. For 
the first time in years I awoke to find myself alone! 

As I threw a hasty glance about the room, my 
heart gave a sudden jump, my very blood seemed to 
congeal, and the sweat of agony started upon my 
brow. For a moment I was dumb with horror; 
then I broke into a scream of agony. 

An awful discovery! There was a stain upon my 
coverlet, a stain upon the floor, a few crimson stains 
upon my night-shirt, and beside the chair on which 


HARRY DEE. 25 

Mrs. Raynor had been seated the night before lay 
her glove, crushed and crumpled. 

“Help! help! Murder!” I screamed; and in an 
ecstasy of fear I made a dash for the door. In the 
helplessness born of terror, I tugged at the knob in 
vain. Convinced that I had been locked in for some 
dire purpose, my terror passed beyond all limits. 
For the moment I became a maniac. I threw my- 
self upon the floor and shrieked and screamed. 
Happily for me, even in this passing frenzy, the sweet 
words of my poor nurse — whom I now believed to 
have been foully dealt with — came forth from the 
chambers of memory and fought hand to hand with 
the sombre terrors of the present. Was not God 
present? Could bolts and bars lock out my angel 
guardian? My cries died away. Gradually I be- 
came calmer, and arising from my grovelling position 
on the floor, I fell upon my knees and prayed to 
God for help. Then I breathed a short ejaculation 
for the welfare of my poor nurse, dead or alive. 
Had she really been murdered? By whom? This 
was an awful question. I feared to assent to that 
answer which my mind suggested again and again: 
“Your uncle is more than a swindler and a thief; to 
make his title to fifty thousand dollars good he has 
become a murderer.” 

While absorbed in these reflections, a hand was 
laid upon the door without. I sprang to my feet, 
and waited in breathless anxiety to learn what new 
terror was upon the turn of events. 

The door opened sharply and revealed Caggett — 
gloomier, uglier than he had shown himself the pre- 
ceding night. His conduct was singular. Catch- 
ing me roughly by the arm, he hurried me from the 


26 


HARRY DEE, 


room into the corridor, along nearly its whole length, 
till he stopped before a door. 

“Boy,” he growled, “do you know whose room 
this is?” 

“ My uncle’s.” 

“Were you here last night very late?” 

“No, sir.” 

“You lie! you were. Now, boy” — here he drew 
me to the door and laid his hand upon the knob — 
“now, boy, look and see what you’ve done.” 

And he threw open the door. 

I took one look, gave a scream of horror, and — 
what happened after that I know not. For the first 
rough glance had been enough. Vivid as the pic- 
ture still is in my memory, I have not the heart to 
reproduce it in all its ghastly details. My poor 
uncle had been stabbed during the night and lay 
dead upon his bed. 

No wonder I fainted. The sight had conjured up 
a terrible tale of wickedness. 

Into that thrust I saw gathered the hatred of the 
wronged wife and the revenge for a husband dead 
of a broken heart. 

O my nurse! you to whom I had, in all a child’s 
unstinted love, given the sacred name*of mother! 


CHAPTER IV. 


IN WHICH I HEAR BAD NEWS, HAVE BRAIN FEVER, AND 
AFTER THREE VERY GLOOMY YEARS ENTER UPON A 
NEW LIFE. 



HEN I came to my senses I found myself in 


VV my little bed at home. My father was bend- 
ing over me anxiously. 


HARRY DEE. 


“ O papa! ” I cried, “ do they think I did it?” 

‘‘ No, indeed, my dear boy. No one but that 
wretched Caggett even suspected you. The whole 
thing seems to be now quite clear. The polic: have 
examined into the case. You must know there was 
a robbery, too. A large sum of money was taken, 
and that circumstance has helped to clear the mat- 
ter. It’s almost beyond the shadow of a doubt that 
your nurse — I always distrusted her for her dark, mys- 
terious ways — committed the murder, partly out of 
hatred to your uncle, partly with the desire to make 
away with some money which she claimed he had 
swindled from her husband. Your uncle’s cook 
gave a very clear account of Mrs. Raynor’s conver- 
sation with my dead brother after he had read the 
will. Your nurse, after dabbling your night-shirt 
with blood, so as to lead us to believe you had 
killed him in your sleep, fled the house. But she’ll 
soon be found. The police all over the country are 
on the watch for her.” 

“Papa, how much money was stolen?” 

“Well, it seems that the miserable old man had a 
habit of sleeping with a large sum of money by his 
side — under his pillow, rather. Caggett, who knew 
his ways, testifies to his certain knowledge the sum 
in my brother’s keeping on that night was fifty thou- 
sand dollars. ” 

Fifty thousand dollars! The very sum Mrs. 
Raynor had claimed. 

Nevertheless, Mrs. Raynor was not found. For 
what light could be brought to bear upon her where- 
abouts, the earth might have swallowed her. 

Nor was Mrs. Raynor the only one to disappear. 


HARRY DEE. 


26 

The cook, housemaid, and coachman could with diffi- 
culty be persuaded to remain till the funeral rites 
had been performed. The two nights they spent in 
the house after my uncle’s death had been nights of 
terror. Each had a tale of strange groanings and 
mocking laughs and weird sighs. As for Caggett, 
he continued to frown and snarl, but said little. 
Even after the others had taken their departure, Cag- 
gett prolonged his stay in the lone house for several 
days. He had received permission from my father 
to put the interior in order, and to make out an 
inventory of the furniture, books, and general state 
of the house. How Caggett went about this work 
nobody knows; but the gossips of the country made 
much of his bravery in remaining alone in a “ haunted 
house. ” 

Haunted house ! That was now the title of Tower 
Hill Mansion. Days passed into months, but from 
the hour Caggett locked every door and brought the 
keys to my father no sign of happy human life, no 
sweet prattle and silvery laughter of childish voices, 
no light steps of little feet, nor bright faces peering 
from the open windows softened the gloom of that 
dismal house. The doors were locked, the blinds 
closed, and around its gloomy gables the wind 
sighed and moaned its mysterious requiem for the 
well-nigh-forgotten dead. 

People shuddered as they passed it by day and 
prayed as they passed it by night. Strange tales con- 
cerning it flew from mouth to mouth; and in course 
of time my uncle’s name ceased to be uttered and 
his dwelling came to be called the “haunted house.” 

Many of these details were made known to me 
long afterward, for at the time I was in no condition 


HARRY DEE. 


29 


to learn them. After the short conversation with my 
father set down in the beginning of this chapter I 
suffered a dangerous relapse. Brain fever set in, 
and for some weeks I struggled blindly in the arms 
of death. I came off the conqueror — not without 
loss. My sleep-walking habit, it is true, disappeared 
with the brain fever; but in its stead I found myself 
robbed of my strength and enveloped in a nervous 
gloom which, it would seem, doctors’ skill could 
not dispel. 

The three years that ensued were the unhappiest 
of my life. The memory of Mrs. Raynor — so kind 
to me, yet so cruel — haunted me; the face of my 
uncle, now as it quivered in kindness, now as it 
blanched into the horror of hideous death, came and 
went in sleepless hours of the night. Life, so gay 
and hopeful and joyous to most boys, offered me 
little to look forward to. My father, as the years 
went on, grew more and more distressed at my con- 
dition. He counted on time to cure me, but he was 
disappointed. 

Finally, after much thought and consultation, he 
concluded that the active, stirring boy-life of board- 
ing-school might prove the best remedy. Accord- 
ingly he sent me at the age of thirteen to a college 
which, as he had been led to believe, combined in 
happy proportions study, piety, and healthful out- 
door exercise. 

On the 13th of October I took the train for St. 
Maure’s. 


30 


HARRY DEE. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH I FALL OUT WITH A YOUNG RASCAL, FALL IN 

WITH NEW FRIENDS, ONE OF WHOM FALLS UPON SAID 

YOUNG RASCAL, AND ENTER THE COLLEGE OF ST. 

MA URE'S IN THE BEST OF SPIRITS. 

“QT. MAURE’S!” shouted a railroad official as 
O the train stopped before a small depot on the 
outskirts of a village. 

Jumping to my feet, I grasped my valise, hurried 
out of the car, and as the train moved away took 
a hasty view of my surroundings. I had been told 
that St. Maure’s College was near the village, but 
was ignorant of the direction. My first glance took 
in many things, though it failed to discover the col- 
lege. 

I turned toward the west and followed with my 
eye the fast-receding train: no college building 
loomed up before me from this point of view, but 
my attention was aroused for all that by the sight of 
three boys advancing along the track. Two of 
them were of about my own age, as I judged; while 
the third was taller and appeared to be older than 
his companions. Each of them had a gun upon his 
shoulder, and the larger carried in addition a game- 
bag, which seemed to be pretty well filled. I di- 
vined at once that they were college students. 

While I stood looking at the approaching trio 
and endeavoring to nerve myself to address them, 
my valise was suddenly jerked from my hand; and 
on turning I was confronted by a rather roughly-clad 
boy of sixteen or seventeen, with as ill-favored a 
countenance as one would meet with in a year and a 
day’s journey. 


HAI^RY DEE. 


31 


“You’re a college kid, ain’t you?” he remarked. 
“ I always carry their baggage. Come on, young- 
ster: ril do it for fifty cents.” 

I was at the time a very timid boy, but this was 
too much for me. 

“ Give me that valise!” I cried. 

“Yah!” ejaculated the young man, swinging the 
valise behind his back and facing me, with one eye 
closed and his tongue sticking out in unmistak- 
able derision. 

I stepped forward and endeavored to snatch my 
valise from his hands, but the disdainful youth 
dexterously swung it round. I reached after it, and 
made several circles about my tantalizing acquaint- 
ance, only to find that things were in precisely the 
same situation as when I began; if anything, one of 
his eyes was closed more tightly, and his tongue 
stuck out at greater length. 

“Give me a quarter, sonny,” continued the jocu- 
lar young gentleman, “and I’ll hand over your grip- 
sack.” 

I stood still, not knowing what to do. It had 
seldom fallen to my lot to deal with such rough per- 
sonages, — Caggett, indeed, was the only one I had 
ever brushed up against, — -and though my outraged 
sense of justice prevented me from considering for 
a moment the idea of giving the fellow a quarter, 
yet I was extremely annoyed. 

I again made a dart at my valise. 

“ Naw, yer don’t,” observed the amateur highway- 
man, running aside. “No quarter, no grip-sack, 
bub.” 

“Isay, handover that grip!” exclaimed a new 


voice. 


32 


HARRY DEE, 


I turned, and to my joy I found that the young 
huntsmen, most opportunely for me, had come upon 
the scene. 

The speaker, a dark-complexioned, somewhat 
chubby, merry-eyed lad, was the smallest of the 
three. He gave me a cordial nod, as did his larger 
companion, while the third surprised me with a salu- 
tation bordering closely upon a profound bow. 

On hearing these words my victimizer backed 
away from us with notable signs of haste. 

“ Do you hear?” continued the jolly-faced boy. 
“ Drop that sack.” 

“Yah!” answered the baggage-thief, making deri- 
sive signals with his fingers, with which expression 
of his feelings he turned west and started off at a 
run. 

I was about to give chase, when the larger of my 
sympathizers thrust me aside, letting his gun drop 
in the act, and exclaiming as he dashed forward : 

“Leave him tome, Johnnie; I’ll spike his bat- 
tery.” 

“That’s all right, Johnnie,” added the first 
speaker; “you needn’t worry about your valise. 
John Donnel means to get it, if he has to bring 
back the fellow’s scalp with it.” 

“ Hadn’t we better run on after them, Tom?” sug- 
gested the other. His voice struck me as he spoke 
with its wondrous sweetness. 

“Come on, then,” replied Tom. 

Without further ado we ran forward in the wake 
of pursuer and pursued. 

While, on the one hand, Donnel was handicapped 
by the game-bag, this disadvantage, on the other, 
was counterbalanced by the valise which encum- 


HARRY DEE. 


33 


bered the runaway. As to the issue, it was evident 
at a glance that Donnel’s overtaking his opponent 
was only a matter of a few minutes. Slowly but 
surely Donnel was nearing his quarry. The ques- 
tion was not how to catch his hare, but how to cook 
it. All the difficulty would be in the meeting. 
This seemed to occur to tfie smaller of my two com- 
panions, for he cried: 

“ Come on, boys, as fast as you can. Maybe John 
will need our help.” 

At the word his companion shot on ahead, and 
soon left us many yards behind. 

‘‘ It does me good to see Percy run,” continued my 
companion, talking with as much composure as 
though he were going at an ordinary walk. “You 
should have seen him when he first came here last 
year. You’d have thought he was a girl in disguise; 
and now there isn’t a nicer nor a better boy in 
Kansas. Hallo! John’s taking off the game-sack. 
He’ll run him down in no time, once he’s got that off.” 

John, who was now within a few feet of the run- 
away, had indeed released his shoulder from the 
strap which supported the game-bag. But instead 
of throwing it aside, he suddenly swung it round and 
brought it with no little vigor about the legs of the 
fugitive. That bold young gentleman was almost 
lassoed. He plunged and fell to the ground; and 
before he could pick himself up John Donnel had 
clutched my valise, while the rest of us had ranged 
ourselves by the side of our champion. 

“Will you fight?” exclaimed the fallen highway- 
man, picking himself up and directing a savage 
look at Donnel. 

“How much a side?” asked John. 

3 


34 


HARRY DEE. 


“ Dollar a side,” he answered after a pause. 

“How much time will you give me for training?” 
continued .Donnel, tranquilly. 

“You’d better sneak off,” suggested the smallest 
of my friends. “You’re talking to John Donnel.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed the pugilist, changing counte- 
nance, and without more ado he shambled off. 

My companions burst into a hearty laugh. 

“ Excuse us, sir,” said Percy, controlling his mirth, 
“but the village boys are awfully afraid of John 
Donnel since he thrashed their champion last year — 
on my account, too. By the way they talk of him, 
you’d think John was a fire-eater; whereas he’s just 
as nice as can be. And now allow me to introduce 
you to Tom Playfair.” 

“Glad to see you,” exclaimed my stout little 
friend, extending his well-browned hand and shak- 
ing mine heartily. “ That red-haired boy,” he con- 
tinued, “ who just made the speech ” 

“It isn’t red; it’s gold,” put in Percy. 

“Is the awfullest dude in the college; and his 
name is Percy Wynn — and he’s got ten sisters and 
still lives.” 

“Don’t you mind that Tom,” said Percy, taking 
my hand and bowing again; “he’s always poking 
fun at me.” 

In the matter of hair, there was no doubt that 
Tom was poking fun. Percy’s hair was indeed of a 
beautiful gold, a fit setting for a face delicate, 
refined, and wearing an expression singularly en- 
gaging. 

John Donnel was a fair-complexioned boy, with a 
countenance remarkable for its sunniness and frank, 
open expression. Somehow I felt at once that I 


HARRY DEE. 


35 


was in the presence of three very remarkable boys; 
and I may add that the passing of many years has not 
weakened that impression. 

“ I’m ever so glad to make your acquaintance,” I 
said. “My name is Harry Dee. I’ve been unwell 
for a long time; and my father thought that the 
bustling, active life in a boarding-college might 
give tone to my nerves.” 

Hereupon Tom Playfair, with a smile, caught 
hold of me, turned me completely around, and then 
stood off and gazed at me critically with his arms 
akimbo. 

“ What you want is an extra layer of fat and lots 
of laughing. You ought to make it a point to smile 
before and after meals,” he said good-humoredly. 

I must admit that Tom’s remarks were to the 
point. At this period of my life I was intensely sol- 
emn and very thin. My face was noticeably pale, 
and my lips and eyelids had a trick of quivering in 
and out of time, due no doubt to the state of my 
nerves. 

“You’ll grow fat on Kansas beef fast enough, 
Harry,” said Donnel. “But suppose we celebrate 
the occasion. We don’t get a new boy every day. 
Tom, it’s your time to treat.” 

“What shall it be?” asked Tom. “Pies?” 

There was an unequivocal murmur of assent from 
John and Percy. 

“All right. You fellows walk on at your ease. 
I’ll run ahead and get them,” and away darted 
Tom. 

As we walked smartly through the village we 
chatted pleasantly, and I could hardly conceal my 
delight with my new friends. Their natures were as 


36 


HARRY RRE. 


sunny as the brightest of days in spring ; they talked 
and laughed with an abandon, a freedom from care, 
that was something new to me. Neither of them 
said one word smacking of piety, and yet I could not 
but perceive that I was in an atmosphere of holiness 
and innocence. 

Just as we were passing out of the village Tom 
rejoined us in a way that was playfully abrupt. He 
came upon us at a run, and brought himself to a stop 
by plunging into Percy, who incontinently sat down. 

“Here you go,” cried Tom, tearing open the pack- 
age he bore, and offering no apology to his pros- 
trate friend. “Pies for the million. My friends, 
eat pie while you may, for to-morrow it’s cakes.” 

He referred to the college-dinner dessert; pie-day 
alternated with cake-day; and, it goes without say- 
ing, the boys were sufficiently interested in the mat- 
ter to know what was forthcoming each day as 
regards that part of the menu. 

Not a little to my astonishment, Tom presented 
me with an entire pie; and on my remonstrating, he 
in turn was still more astonished. 

Each of my friends took a pie without any objec- 
tions; and I must add (model boys though they 
were) that they were considerate enough to help me 
dispatch my own. 

“I say,” began Tom, as we resumed our road 
toward the college, “how are you on baseball?” 

“Not much,” I answered. “You see, I’m too 
weak for hard batting or throwing or fast running. 
But I can curve a ball down and in and out, and 
place it pretty well.” 

“Couldn’t you train him for our nine, Tom?” 
asked Percy. 


HARRY DEE. 


37 


“ I don’t see why not. He’s not near as hopeless 
a case as you were, Percy, when you first came 
here. Why,” he added, addressing himself to me, 
“you should have seen him. He had girl’s hair, 
and used to walk about taking short steps like a 
pigeon, and the first time he threw a ball he hit John 
Donnel on the neck, and then he yelled like a woman 
when she sees a mouse. But now he’s our left-fielder 
and holds everything — and my! you just ought to 
see him on the run when he goes after a ball. And 
as for base-stealing — he’ll be a terror if he’s not 
afraid to slide. He can run farther in less time than 
any fellow in the yard.” 

Tom, I could see, always became eloquent when 
speaking of his friend Percy, who on this occasion 
blushed violently and looked about him as though 
he were desirous of hiding himself. 

John Donnel, who had been watching me intently 
during Tom’s panegyric, now said: 

“ Percy, I agree with you. Harry has the right 
sort of build for a baseball player, or I’m much 
mistaken. All he needs is filling out; he’ll get 
that soon enough. And we need a pitcher for our 
Blue Clippers, anyhow. Harry Quip’s arm is too 
sore for regular work. Tom, you’d better undertake 
to train Harry Dee.” 

Tom and Percy listened with great respect to 
Donnel. And certainly on this point he had a just 
title to their regard. Though still in the small 
yard, John was looked upon as one of the best 
second-basemen in the college. Close upon John 
in authority came Tom Playfair, whose training 
and executive abilities were rated so high that on 
joining the Blue Clippers at the beginning of the 


38 


HARRY DEE. 


present school year he had at once, mainly owing to 
the influence of Donnel and Keenan, been elected 
captain and manager. 

“We’ll make you a member if it can be done, 
Harry,” said Tom, “and we’ll have you in trim 
within a month.” 

I was surprised and delighted at the kindness and 
cordiality of my new friends. Why they should at 
once have taken me so fully into their confidence is 
a question I cannot answer to this day. Boys are 
marvellously quick in their likes and dislikes; and 
as far as I have had opportunity of noticing, they 
seldom judge amiss. By a sort of intuition they 
form lasting friendships where the older and wiser 
are wont to pause, weigh, and consider. 

He should deem himself fortunate who finds it an 
easy matter to win the love and confidence of the 
young; and, looking back, it strikes me that the 
friendship shown me by Tom, Percy, and John is 
something of which I may well be proud. 

Tom and Percy! How I wish I could paint them 
to the reader as I saw them on that red-letter day of 
my life. Tom, stout, brown, ruddy, with his face 
ever serene, with mischief twinkling ever in his 
eyes. But if fun proclaimed itself on his open 
face, decision asserted itself with even gfeater 
force. His mouth was of the firmest, his chin of 
the squarest. 

Percy was equally handsome, but in another way. 
There was a certain delicacy about his person, 
form, and feature — even his clothes seemed to lend 
themselves to the expression of this capital point. 
His skin was very fair and white, save where on 
either cheek a slight touch of the rose lent an 


HAI^RY DEE. 


39 


exquisite beauty to his exquisite complexion. His 
eyes and brow bespoke intelligence, and his whole 
face, regular in every feature, was mobile, refined, 
tender beyond any tx)y-face that has ever come 
under my notice. Like Tom, he was dressed in polo 
shirt and knickerbockers. I lay down my pen to 
gaze upon them again, and as I gaze my eyes grow 
dim with gracious memories, and I cry from my 
heart, “God bless them!” 

The conversation on our nearing St. Maure’s, by 
a natural school-boy transition, turned from base- 
ball to class matters. 

“ Percy and I are in First Academic,” said Tom, 
“ our third year of Latin and second of Greek. I 
wish you could get in with us; we’ve a splendid 
teacher— Mr. Middleton. He’s our prefect, too. 
Do you know any Latin, Harry?” 

“A little; I’ve studied it about two years and a 
half under a private teacher. In fact, I’ve studied 
hardly anything but Latin, Greek, and arithmetic; 
and I went through everything in the morning hours 
from nine to twelve and had the afternoon free.” 

“Gracious!” exclaimed Tom; “ what a nice daily 
order — half-holiday every day.” 

“How did you go about Latin?” put in Percy. 
“ Did you begin with reading Histori(e Sacrce? ” 

“Yes; for seven months I was kept on nothing 
but the accidence and Historm Sacrce. I declined 
and conjugated till there was no sticking me. 
Then I began translating Cicero’s letters. My first 
lesson was half a line; but I had to know every- 
thing that could be known about it, and I studied 
syntax in reference to each lesson. What I trans- 
lated I learned by heart. Then I was made to put 


40 


HARRY DEE. 


some English sentences into a similar style of Latin 
— that’s what you call theme-work, isn’t it?” 

“ Exactly,” said Tom ; “ you’ve just been going on 
the lines Mr. Middleton sets for us. We learn by 
heart everything that we translate. How far did you 
go in Latin ?” 

“About five hundred lines of Cicero — mostly his 
letters. But I know it all, so that were I to lose my 
book I could put every word on paper.” 

“That’s the system in St. Maure’s, pretty much,” 
observed Tom. “ They are getting closer to it every 
year. But how about the Copia verboru77i 2 ” 

“Well, besides learning the inflection and mean- 
ing of every word I came across in Cicero, my teacher 
put four or five new words into each of my daily 
themes. In that way I got in about five or six hun- 
dred extra Latin words.” 

“It’s a great plan,” put in Tom. “Percy and I 
are terribly interested in Latin. You see, it’s this 
way. Next year, when we get into Humanities, 
we’ve a chance to compete for an intercollegiate gold 
medal to be given to the one who writes the best 
Latin theme; now we want to hold up our end here 
at St. Maure’s against the other six colleges that 
are in it.” 

“.And besides,” added Percy, “ we count on Mr. 
Middleton’s teaching us next year; he’s very anxious 
for us to come out well in the contest, and that alone 
is enough to make us work for it.” 

“Just so,” resumed Tom, “and it’s his last year 
of teaching. After that he will go off and study 
theology and come back a priest. And if we don’t 
give him a send-off next year it won’t be our fault. 
You’ll work for it, won’t you, Harry?” 


HARRY DEE. 


41 


“ If I’m able to get into your class,” I replied, 
“ I’ll do my best.” 

“ Shake hands on that,” said Tom, grasping my 
hand. “We’re none of us particular who gets the 
medal, provided it comes to some one in our class. 
But if we all work close together we’ll help one 
another and maybe carry off some of the honors.” 

“ There are nine places of honor, and there are 
seven boys in our class who are going to work from 
now till next April, one year, to get in their names. 
There’s Percy and myself, and Joe Whyte and Harry 
Quip, and Will Ruthers and Joe Richards, and your- 
self.” 

If I had been pleased with our few words on the 
subject of baseball, I was both pleased and aston- 
ished at the eagerness with which my companions 
took up the question of Latin. They were real ideal 
boys; boys who loved work and play — an unusual 
combination. 

On further talk we came to an agreement to help 
each other in this wise: The “big six,” as Tom 
called the aspirants for the Latin medal, were to 
coach me in the part of Caesar and Sallust which 
they had seen during their two years’ study, while I 
in return was to go over with them the particular let- 
ters of Cicero which it had been my lot to review 
with my tutor. 

With the ratification of this compact on our lips 
we entered the college grounds; and thus, auspi- 
ciously surrounded by the truest of friends and al- 
ready spurred on to emulation in my studies, I made 
my entrance into St. Maure’s. 


42 


HARRY DEE. 


CHAPTER VI. 


IN WHICH THE BLUE CLIPPERS GET A NEW MEMBER AND 
THE COLLEGE BOYS A HALF-HOLIDA Y. 

OM PLAYFAIR conducted me to the room of 



1 the president. At first view of the Father I 
was somewhat dismayed. He was tall, dark, thin- 
faced, and wore a pair of sombre spectacles. He 
was writing at his desk as we entered, and before he 
looked up I obtained a good view of his face in 
profile. I took him to be a man of books and of a 
somewhat saturnine disposition. 

“Father,” said Tom, “here’s a new boy, and his 
name is Harry Dee.” 

The president laid down his pen and turned 
toward us. His face, harsh and austere before, be- 
came illuminated with a smile, genial and winning; 
and as he advanced to greet me ail my fears van- 
ished. 

His greeting was indeed cordial. After-experi- 
ence proved to me that I had been deceived by first 
appearances. Not entirely, perhaps; for I am con- 
vinced that by nature Father Delmar was severe, 
but grace had triumphed over nature, and he had 
won the secret of sweetness from a life of self- 
denial. 

“Now, Tom,” said the president, _after the first 
greetings had been exchanged, “ in what class shall 
we place Harry ?” 

“In our class. Father. He’s been studying Latin 
and Greek the last two years.” 

“ Indeed ?” There was a gratified look on Father 
Delmar’s face. “Well, to make sure I’ll examine 


HARRY DEE. 


43 


Harry. You can wait outside for a moment, Tom, 
and then I’ll put him into your hands.” 

On Tom’s going out the president said very 
gravely: “Harry, I congratulate you on meeting 
Tom. He’s a good boy, a very good boy, but he’s 
not alone in the field. There are others.” 

“ Percy Wynn ?” I suggested. 

Again a bright smile of gratification lighted up the 
president’s face. He looked more than beautiful 
when he smiled. 

“Ah! you know him. You’re lucky. In some 
respects Percy is marvellous, and, what’s best of all, 
each thinks nothing of himself and all the world of 
each other. But now for your examination.” 

The president was an expert at this sort of work ; 
and in five or six minutes he contrived to find out 
nearly everything I knew, and, to be frank, an in- 
finite number of things of which I was dismally 
ignorant. For all that he seemed to be satisfied, 
and I felt more gratified in exhibiting my ignorance 
to him than my knowledge to others. 

“Well,” he said at length, “I’ll have to stand by 
the verdict of your first examiner: here’s a ticket 
for First Academic. You are strong in Latin and 
Greek, fair in English, and somewhat wanting in 
history and geography, which you must make up 
by private study. Now, my boy, go, and may God 
bless you.” 

Tom met me without and proceeded to guide me 
over to the small yard. As we drew near the gate 
between it and the large boys’ division, I noticed 
that Percy, Donnel, and half a dozen of the students 
were grouped together. 

“ Hurrah !” said Tom. “ Percy and Donnel have 


44 


HARRY DEE. 


spread the news of your coming and got our fellows 
together. That’s Mr. Middleton over there; he’s — 
well, he’s just the best teacher you’d want to meet. 
There’s not a boy in our class who wouldn’t stand 
on his head for him.” 

Even as Tom spoke Mr. Middleton advanced, 
smiling a welcome as he neared us. 

“What class is it, Harry?” he inquired as he 
caught my hand and gave it a cordial squeeze. 

“First Academic, sir,” I answered. 

“Splendid. Welcome to St. Maure’s, welcome to 
the small yard, and welcome to the First Academic.” 

In very deed Mr. Middleton seemed to rejoice 
over my being in his class fully as much as Tom 
and Percy. It struck me at once that there was some- 
thing of the boy in Mr. Middleton — a certain fresh- 
ness, vivacity, and breeziness of youth. He was a 
man in every sense of the word and a boy in its best 
sense. In all his dealings with us little lads he 
never seemed to forget that he, too, had once been a 
small boy; his sympathy for us took the edge off his 
severest punishments. 

“Now,” pursued my new professor, “come and 
take a look at your companions.” 

Within a few moments I was as much at home 
with my new friends as one of my temperament and 
experiences could well be. I was taken with them 
all, especially with George Keenan and Harry Quip. 
While engaged in conversation with these two a 
very small boy approached me, took me by the hand, 
led me apart, and said: 

“I’m glad to see you. Percy Wynn likes you, 
and that proves that you’re all right. What do you 
think of Percy?” As he asked this question this 


Y DEE. 45 

very small boy turned upon me a pair of piercingly 
earnest dark eyes. 

“I think he’s one of the nicest boys I ever met; 
he’s — he’s charming,” was my answer. 

“Charming — charming,” he echoed. “That’s a 
good word. Why ?” 

He almost threw this monosyllabic question at me, 
and I must confess that I grew so nervous that I 
was unable to give him answer. 

This very small boy perceived my embarrassment, 
and proceeded to relieve it by putting me another 
question. 

“ Do you like mathematics?” 

“Not much, I’m sorry to say.” 

Whereupon the serious little lad sighed, but imme- 
diately brightened up and added: “Well, lots of 
good fellows don’t like ’em, but I do — awfully. I 
like things proved. You’re a Catholic, ain’t you?” 
he went on. 

“ Yes.” 

“So’m I. I’m a convert, and I converted my 
father, too. You just ought to have seen me at him.” 
Here he broke into a smile. “ I proved him wrong 
and he couldn’t wriggle out of it.” 

“All by yourself?” I inquired. 

“Well, no; not exactly. I had a catechism along. 
My name’s Frank Burdock; your name’s Harry. 
Don’t you think Frank is a pretty name?” 

“ Indeed, I do.’* 

“ Why?” 

To my great relief I had a fit of coughing at this 
juncture, and the small interrogation-point went on 
in this wise: 

“ I want to tell you that Percy Wynn is the best boy 


46 


HARRY DEE. 


in the world. I don’t say anything against any one 
else, you understand; but all the same I’ll put my 
money on Percy every time. Now don’t you forget 
that, please,” and again breaking into a smile, this 
very serious small boy walked away. 

Few youngsters on first coming to boarding-col- 
lege escape the ordeal of being teased. Nervous 
and timid, I had looked forward with no little dread 
to this stern novitiate in my new life. But, to an- 
ticipate, my classmates by some agreement, tacit or 
otherwise, thoroughly sheltered me from any rough 
usage. 

After an early supper Tom, intent upon business, 
brought me over to the “blue grass.” 

“I got permission to bring you here,” he re- 
marked/' because I wanted to try your hand at pitch- 
ing. We’ve a strong nine; the only thing is we’re 
weak in the box. If you’ve got it in you, we’ll be 
just right.” 

Tom produced a “boy’s league,” and retiring to 
the proper distance, asked me to pitch the ball. 

I gave him an out-curve. 

“Very good!” he cried. “That was a big one. 
Now let’s see your in-shoot.” 

Tom misjudged the ball and dropped it. 

“Let it go again,” he exclaimed, returning me 
the ball ; “ same way.” 

This time he held it. 

“ Goodness! but that’s the wickedest in-shoot I’ve 
seen in the small yard. Send in another.” 

Tom kept me at the in-shoot for several minutes. 
His eyes glowed with excitement, and candor com- 
pels me to admit that I was not a little proud of the 
impression I had produced. 


HARRY DEE. 


47 


“You’ll do, Harry; that’s certain. You’ve no 
idea how glad I am. Now let’s try your drop. 
That’s good enough, too,” he remarked as he caught 
the drop, “ but you can improve it with practice. 
How long can you hold out?” 

“At present,” I Answered, “not for more than 
five or ten minutes.” 

“ You’re not very strong yet, Harry, but we’ll 
get you at the parallel bars and the dumb-bells and 
the boxing-gloves, and in three weeks you’ll be able 
to pitch for nine innings twice a day.” 

Just as Tom ceased speaking Harry Quip came 
running over breathless with excitement. 

“Oh, I say!” he bawled. “It’s two hundred and 
fifty!” 

Both of us stared at Master Quip, who was now 
dancing. 

“In the shade?” asked Tom. 

“ Who’s talking about the weather ?” shouted Quip. 
“ It’s two hundred and fifty.” 

And Quip resumed his jig. 

“If you’d like to go to a lunatic asylum,” Tom 
observed, “we’ll certify that you’re a fit subject. 
Stop your wobbling and talk sense.” 

Thus adjured, Harry Quip, supporting himself on 
one leg, roared forth : 

“Two hundred and fifty boys. Harry Dee fills 
the number.” 

Upon which communication Tom became fully 
as insane as Quip and joined the dance. 

“Hurrah! We’ll get a half-holiday, sure. To- 
morrow’s Wednesday, and we’ll have a swim in the 
river.” 

Both young gentlemen, now equally breathless, 


48 


HARRY DEE, 


deluged me with a torrent of words, out of which I 
gradually fished the meaning. I was to return to 
the small yard and, accompanied by a delegation, 
was to repair to the president’s room and there, it 
was confidently believed, obtain a holiday as being 
the two hundred and fiftieth boy of the college. 

Before I had fairly taken in the situation each 
grasped an arm and began hustling me unceremo- 
niously back to the yard. 

My arrival was greeted with a cheer. Other 
enthusiasts joined themselves to Tom and Harry, 
and in a trice there were some twenty of us, panting 
and breathless, outside the door of Father Delmar’s 
room. 

Here we all paused to recover our breath. 

“Who’ll make the speech?’’ asked Joe Whyte. 

“Percy!’’ suggested several. 

“All right,” said Percy, who was the calmest one 
of the party. In fact, he rarely lost his breath or 
his flow of words. “ Come on, boys; I’m ready,” and 
he knocked. 

“ Father Rector,” said Percy, when all had entered, 
“we’ve come to congratulate you.” 

The boys laughed. Frank Burdock threw his hat 
in the air, but missed it coming down, whereupon 
he blushed and retired into the obscurest corner. 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed Father Delmar ; “ on what ?” 

“ On the fact that you now have two hundred and 
fifty students.” 

“Yes, sir — yes, sir — yes sir,” came a unanimous 
chorus of voices. 

The president smiled mischievously. 

“Well, what about it?” he inquired. 

“A great deal,” answered Percy. “When you 


HARRY DEE. 


49 


became president of this college, I am told, there 
were not one hundred and twenty-five boys in actual 
attendance; and it is to your energy and effi- 
ciency we owe it that the number has been doubled. 
So permit me to say again, reverend Father, that 
we, the small boys, congratulate you with all our 
hearts.” 

“Well, my dear boys, I thank you for your con- 
gratulations; and in return for Percy’s pretty speech 
I am tempted to make one myself.” 

Here the boys became very serious. 

“ But I am convinced that you do not want a 
speech just now.” 

The momentarily solemn faces of his auditors 
again quivered into smiles. 

“ So instead of a speech, which you do not want 
— now be sure not to shout till you get back to your 
yard — I’ll grant you a half-holiday for to-morrow, 
which you do want.” 

There was a multitudinous “thank you. Father,” 
from every boy in the room, and, presto ! twenty-odd 
lads, their eyes shining with pleasurable excite- 
ment, scurried lightly through the corridor and broke 
into the yard with a cheer, which at once spread 
the good tidings throughout the college. 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN WHICH WE GO SWIMMING AND MEET WITH AN AD- 
VENTURE. 

I N the dormitory that night I was pleased to 
find that my bed was next to Percy Wynn’s. 
I retired thoroughly exhausted from the varied ex- 
citements of the day, and, contrary to my wont, fell 
4 


50 


HARRY DEE. 


asleep almost at once, to wake only at the sound of 
the bell next morning. 

Mr. Middleton, my professor, more than equalled 
the expectations I had been led to form of him. 
The boys of his class to a man (excuse the bull) were 
all absorbed in their work. So was Mr. Middleton; 
for their sixty per cent of enthusiasm he returned a 
hundred fold. The hour of Latin seemed to fly on 
golden wings; and still not a second was lost. The 
thoroughness displayed by teacher and pupils was 
something extraordinary. The theme-work and 
translation seemed to possess all the charm and fas- 
cination of the play-ground. Greek class was con- 
ducted much in the same way. Mr. Middleton was 
equally enthusiastic; the boys, too, were attentive 
and wide-awake, though they lacked somewhat that 
spontaneity of enthusiasm which had distinguished 
the preceding hour. Very quickly, indeed, noon- 
time came, and with it our half-holiday. 

At three in the afternoon some forty of us, ac- 
companied by Mr. Middleton, took the road through 
the village leading to the river. It was to be the 
last swim of the year. The mornings were already 
growing chilly, and in the fall months the river was 
considered rather unsafe. 

Frank Burdock, Percy, and Tom were my com- 
panions. Presently, as we passed out of the village, 
Keenan, Donnel, Quip, Whyte, Richards, Ruthers, 
and a number of other boys whose names I did not 
know at the time joined us. 

“You see,” said Frank to me, “we’ve got up a 
little society to say the Litany of the Blessed Vir- 
gin whenever we go out swimming; that’s to pre- 
vent accidents. It’s a good idea, isn’t it?” 


HARRY DEE. 


51 


“It certainly is,” I replied. 

“Percy and Tom got it up,” said Frank trium- 
phantly. 

Frank was about to add something further, when 
he was interrupted by Percy, who called out: 
“Ready, boys?” 

“Let her go,” answered Tom, imparting to the 
words a seriousness which took away all their ob- 
vious levity. 

Then, in his clear, sweet, silvery voice, Percy re- 
cited the litanies, while the others, with every sign 
of reverence, responded “ Pray for us ” in low, ear- 
nest tones. 

The spirit of true Catholic faith and devotion was 
alive in the college. It was a little world in itself 
— but a Catholic world. Prayer and piety lent a 
radiance to the atmosphere of play and study. At 
noon-time I had been not a little astonished when, 
at the sound of the bell, the scene of bustling life 
and play in the yard was at once changed to a tab- 
leau. The batsman dropped his bat, the pitcher his 
ball, the game of tag came to a sudden pause and 
the small boy’s shout of triumph to a premature end ; 
every head was bared, and each boy, where the an- 
gelus had fallen upon his ears, stood stock-still 
while reciting the angelical salutation. Presently 
” the charm was snapt, and all the pent-up stream 
of dashed downward in a cataract.” The pitcher 
pitched, the batter batted, the tagger tagged, and 
the gay-innocent life went on all the more merrily 
for that sweet interruption. 

The same spirit showed itself in the recital of the 
litanies. All joined in with a will; and thus in 
prayer we came within sight of the river. 


52 


HARRY DEE. 


“Look!" exclaimed Frank; “did you ever see 
such a yellow river?" 

“ Looks as if it had the jaundice from smoking 
too many cigarettes," commented George Keenan. 

“It reminds me," said Tom, “of a man I knew 
who had a liver complaint, I think it was." 

As the conversation went on we selected a place 
for undressing. 

“ I’m afraid it’s pretty cold," pursued Tom, throw- 
ing off his jacket. “ Are you a good swimmer, 
Harry ?” 

“No, Tom, I’m hardly able to take a dozen 
strokes." 

“Well, you’d better be very careful to-day. 
Don’t go out of ‘bounds’ — I’ll point them out for 
you; none of us is allowed to go beyond them; and 
be sure, by the way, to keep pretty close to the bank. 

“Yes," put in little Frank, “that’s the way I 
always did till I learned how to swim well. So did 
Percy." 

“We’ve had plenty of practice this summer," 
Percy explained. “You see, several of us went 
rusticating in Wisconsin on the shore of the prettiest 
lake one could wish to see. We went in swimming 
once or twice every day, and now we’re all of us 
quite proud of our skill in the water." 

“But Tom and Percy are the best," said Frank, 
with his mediaeval smile. 

“Come on there and hustle," exclaimed Tom, 
who, arrayed in his swimming-tights, was impa- 
tiently awaiting the laggards. 

In a few minutes we were all plunging about in 
the water; and there rose upon the solemn air the 
mingled sounds of splashing and happy laughter. 


HARRY DEE. 53 

But for all that the water was intensely cold. It 
was hard to refrain from shivering. 

We were soon engaged in a game of tag. I was 
“ it” for a few seconds, but succeeded in catching 
Tom Playfair napping. Next to Tom, and stand- 
ing a little more than waist-deep in water, was 
Frank Burdock. Tom made a dart at him. With 
a gay laugh Frank took a leap backward, and 
as he leaped I gave a cry of dismay. My fears 
were realized. A huge drift-log had just floated 
within a few feet of little Frank, who was ignorant 
of its vicinity. His head struck against the end of 
it and, to my dismay, he went down. 

I struck out at once, never reflecting that it was 
all that I could do to take care of myself. With a 
single stroke Tom was beside me. 

“ Go back, Harry, go back!” 

I obeyed instinctively, and felt at once that Tom 
was indeed a boy born to command. His whilom 
happy face was now aflush with energy and deter- 
mination as, with a magnificent overhand stroke, he 
made for the place where Frank had disappeared. 
Suddenly there arose another form at his side, as it 
were from out the very heart of the water. It was 
Percy Wynn, who had taken a long dive and thus 
put himself abreast of his brave friend. Just then, 
twenty feet or so further down the current, emerged 
the face of poor little Frank. His eyes were closed 
and his face was extremely pale; there was an ugly 
gash below his temple, and even for the moment 
that the cut was free from the washing of the water 
a stream of blood marked his sinking for the second 
time. 

A clear voice now arose. 


54 


HARRY DEE. 


“Percy and Tom go on, in God’s name! Every 
one else out of the water.” 

All of us hastened to the bank, in obedience to 
Mr. Middleton’s command, while Tom and Percy 
made bravely on. Both used the overhand stroke, 
and breast to breast cut the water. They were mag- 
nificent swimmers. One would almost think that 
they were racing for a wager. 

Suddenly they paused and, treading the water, 
gazed around and about them. But seemingly they 
discovered no sign of Frank’s presence. 

Then, as with one impulse,, they dived. The 
place whither Frank had been carried was far out of 
bounds and very deep. 

All this had come to pass within a few seconds. 
Mr. Middleton had not been idle in the mean time. 

f 

Throwing off his coat and shoes, he now plunged 
into the river and came toward the scene of action 
with powerful strokes. He was a royal swimmer; 
for speed I had never seen his like. 

As Tom came to the surface Mr. Middleton was 
at his side. Tom’s quest in the underwaters had 
been fruitless. In another second Percy appeared 
alone. 

There was a groan of dismay from the shore. 
Many of the boys sank upon their knees as Mr. 
Middleton, after saying something to Tom and 
Percy which we could not hear, dived down. 

The next few seconds were seconds of agony. The 
sun went behind a cloud — a deathly stillness came 
upon the scene. Second after second passed. The 
only sign of movement or life came from Tom and 
Percy, who were treading water side by side. 

Oh, those terrible seconds! It seemed an hour. 


HARRY DEE. 


55 


At length there was a ripple and a splash; and a 
great cry of joy arose as Mr. Middleton broke 
through the surface with little Frank supported on 
his strong right arm. 

Tom was by his side at once, and catching one 
of Frank’s hands, helped his prefect shoreward with 
the unconscious boy. 

Then, as the party reached shallow water, a cheer 
arose from the shore, such as nothing but excite- 
ment and enthusiasm at highest pressure could 
arouse. 

Eager hands were stretched out to them and 
helped them ashore. 

There never was such hand-shaking since college 
began, and there was reason for our joy, since no 
one washarmed and Frank had recovered conscious- 
ness before reaching land. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IN WHICH WE FIGHT OUR BATTLES O'ER AGAIN AND 
SPEND A PLEASANT EVENING IN THE INFIRMARY. 

“'T'HAT Mr. Middleton is one of the pluckiest 
1 men alive,” observed John Donnel as we 
took our way home. 

“He can swim with hands and feet tied,” added 
George Keenan. “My! it was a sight to watch 
him making for you, Frank. You’d think he was 
running in the water.” 

“ By the way, Tom, what was it he whispered to 
you and Percy when he dived after Frank?” in- 
quired Donnel. 

“‘Say a Hail Mary, boys/ that’s all he said; but 


HARRY DEE. 


56 

I tell you, it worked me up. While he was down 
in the water I think I got off more genuine pray- 
ing in those few seconds than I did since the morn- 
ing I made my First Communion. I said the Hail 
Mary only once, but when I got to the words, ‘Pray 
for us sinners now and at the hour of our death’ — 
oh! didn’t I mean it!” 

“ Yes!” put in Percy. “ That was my prayer, too; 
and, really, I never knew before what a beautiful 
prayer it was.” 

“Look here,” cried little Frank, “perhaps you 
won’t believe me, but it is a fact, even if I can’t 
prove it. After that log struck me I forgot all 
about myself. I was — what do you call it?” 

“Unconscious,” suggested Percy. 

“That’s it, exactly. The next thing I knew I 
found myself lying on the sandy bottom, and there 
was a rumbling sound, like thunder, in my ears. 
Now, boys, wasn’t I frightened? I felt that I was 
choking and that I’d be dead in less than a min- 
ute. I was awfully frightened — just crazy — you 
understand? Then I remembered, all of a sudden, 
that I had said the Litany of the Blessed Virgin, 
and — would you believe it? — I didn’t feel one bit 
scared. No, sir; I wasn’t afraid of death, and I 
just began saying the Hail Mary to myself, and when 
I got to ‘now, and at the hour of our death, amen,’ 
I felt a hand clutching my arm, and that’s all I 
knew till I found Mr. Middleton and Tom towing 
me in to the shore.” 

“Singular!” murmured Percy. “ It looks ^s though 
all three of us said the same sweet prayer at the 
very same time.” 

“That’s just my opinion,” added Tom, and all 


HARIiY DEE. 


57 


fell to thinking. Miracle or not, it came home to 
us that prayer was a practical part of life, and that 
the Mother of God had not been deaf to the wishes 
of her loving young sodalists. 

Shortly before supper Mr. Middleton called Tom 
aside. 

“Tom,” he said, “you remember the time Percy 
crippled himself in running you down out toward 
Pawnee Creek.” 

“Do I? Oh, don’t I!” 

“And the supper in the infirmary?’’ 

“Yes, indeed, sir.” 

“Well, a good thing will stand repetition. You 
and Percy and Frank need a good rest this afternoon 
and a late sleep to-morrow. So you needn’t mind 
your night studies. Don’t get up till half-past 
seven. There’s a priest here staying overnight who 
will say mass at half-past eight. And by the way, 
your nervous friend, Harry Dee, might go along 
with you. Such a scene as he has witnessed this 
afternoon may have a bad effect on him. So just 
as soon as the bell rings for supper, all of you go 
quietly over to the infirmary. The Brother has 
promised me to give you a good supper.” 

And Mr. Middleton cut short Tom’s ardent thanks 
by hurrying away. 

I was standing beside Tom as he received this 
pleasant communication. I had come to look upon 
Tom as a hero, and I looked at him with some anx- 
iety to hear what he would say. 

“ I hope there’ll be lots of buttered toast!” ejacu- 
lated my hero, with no little ardor,, saying which 
he dashed off to communicate the good word to the 
others. 


58 


HARRY DEE. 


And now for that supper! The reader must ex- 
cuse me, but I can’t bring myself to narrate how 
these life-rescuers demolished the viands. It’s too 
prosaic; and I am tempted even to draw my pen 
through Tom’s remark about the buttered toast. 
Suffice it for me to say that as they had shown 
bravery at the river, so they showed appetite at the 
table; and it struck me with much force that be- 
cause a boy is good one has no right to grudge him 
health and appetite. 

I had been tossing restlessly in bed for half an 
hour, when some one touched me on the arm. I 
turned and perceived by the dim light of the lamp 
that Tom was beside me. His face was beaming 
with sympathy. 

“Old fellow,” he began, “ you can’t sleep, can 
you ?” 

“No,” I whispered, “though I’m very tired.” 

“You’ve got a shaking up from that river busi- 
ness. I’m sorry for you. The very first minute I 
saw you I guessed what was the matter.” 

“I don’t understand you, Tom.” 

“Well, simply this: You’ve been an eye-witness 
to something terrible — or something in that line — a 
murder^ maybe.” 

I almost leaped from the bed. 

“Pretty good guess, wasn’t it?” Tom went on 
calmly. “But it’s all simple enough. You’ve got 
the ways of Jimmy Aldine. Poor Jimmy! He’s 
dead now, my best friend. He had seen a murder. 
I’ll tell you the story some day, and you’ll tell me 
yours, won’t you ?” 

“Indeed I will, Tom.” 

“All right, Harry. I’m told your mother is dead 


HARRY DEE. 


59 


— is that so?” And Tom gazed down into my face 
with a sympathy rare and strange in one of his 
years. 

“Yes,” I said softly; and as I thought of my 
mother dead and of her who had filled the place of 
mother far worse than dead, my eyes filled. 

“Same way with me,” said Tom gently. “I just 
remember my mother’s face. My father says she was 
a saint. I believe him; and I’m sure she looks out 
for me. But, Harry, old fellow (that’s between me 
and you), I have asked another mother to take the 
place of the one I’ve lost. You take her too.” 

For a few moments we were both silent. 

“ Now,” resumed Tom, “I guess I’ll turn in. I’d 
have gone to sleep at once only it occurred to me 
that the excitement had rattled you, and so I 
watched and saw you tossing and tumbling about, 
and then I thought we might as well have a little 
talk. I want you to feel that you’re among friends.” 

I thanked him in broken words. What a wonder- 
ful power of happiness goes forth in a little kind- 
ness. But Tom was even more considerate. His 
kindness rose to the height of invention. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he pursued; “I’ll wheel my 
bed right alongside of yours, without disturbing the 
other fellows. Now, if you get nervous or scared, 
just bang me across the chest — hit hard, or I won’t 
know the difference.” 

“How can I thank you for your kindness!” I ex- 
claimed as Tom brought his bed within a few inches 
of mine. 

“By going to sleep,” Tom made answer. “You 
look as though you thought I was doing something 
extraordinary. Not at all. There’s not a boy in 


6o 


HARRY DEE. 


the place, almost, who wouldn’t have done the same 
thing if they’d known you were so nervous. You 
see, I came to notice it because I know how it is 
myself. A little before the time of Jimmy Aldine’s 
death I had the horrors every night nearly, and I 
tell you I haven’t forgotten it, either. Well, good- 
night. Remember, we’ll try our hands on Cicero’s 
letters to-morrow. ” 

And making the sign of the cross, Tom closed his 
eyes and very, very soon gave evidence by the reg- 
ular breathing that he was fast asleep. 

His presence had a calming effect upon me, and 
I felt so happy for all his kind and considerate 
words. Yes, Tom had “ministered to a mind dis- 
eased.” His kind words hovered brightly in my 
memory, and soon conducted me into the very 
brightest and pleasantest spot in dreamland — the 
spot consecrated to love, and purity, and innocence, 
and ever hallowed by their priceless presence. 


CHAPTER IX. 

IN WHICH I HAVE A BAD NIGHT AND PRODUCE A SENSA- 
TION IN THE DORMITORY. 

A ccording to orders, we all arose at half-past 
seven the next morning, thoroughly refreshed. 
After a substantial breakfast we heard the late mass, 
and came from the chapel in time to get our books 
for class. 

At noon-time Tom and I had a long tite-h-tite. I 
told him the dramatic incidents of my life, to which 
he listened with no little astonishment. When I 
had concluded my tale he fell into a brown-study. 


HARRY DEE. 


6i 


“I’ll tell you what I think,” he at length said. 

“ I think that there’s not an end of this business 
yet, by any means. You loved your nurse pretty 
much the same as though she were your mother. 
Now, that’s in her favor. From what I’ve seen and 
heard during my three years in boarding-college, 
I’ve come to believe that a small boy seldom misses 
it in the matter of likes and dislikes. Now, if your 
nurse killed your uncle, I’m willing to bet my head 
that she didn’t do it merely for the sake of the 
money.” 

“You think not?” I exclaimed, with a great feel- 
ing of relief. The reader should remember that 
what had given me the greatest shock was the thought 
that one I had loved so much should prove so base. 

“ Honest,” answered Tom. “ Now, another thing: 
did your nurse ever act queerly — that is, did you 
ever notice anything in her conduct which might 
lead you to think that there was something wrong 
about her head ?” 

Before replying, I considered for a moment. 

“ No,” I at length made answer. “She was re- 
served and distant with others, but with me she 
was ever kind and loving. I can’t say that she at 
any time acted queerly.” 

“She might have killed him in a moment of in- 
sanity,” observed Tom. “At all events, I’m quite 
sure that she didn’t kill him in cold blood.” 

I was inexpressibly soothed by this opinion of 
Tom’s. 

“ Another thing,” he continued: “ what about that 
house? Do you honestly think it’s haunted?” 

“ I can’t say for certain, Tom. No one goes near • 
it, but everybody says it is.” 


62 


HARRY DEE. 


“Well, we mustn’t take a thing like that for 
granted. Now, I’ve got an idea which it won’t do 
any harm to carry out. Who knows but it may 
throw some light on the subject? It’s the same 
way in life, I reckon, as in books. We make lots of 
bad blunders simply because we take one little 
thing or another for granted. Now, I really don’t 
see what that house being haunted or not haunted 
has to do with the case; but maybe it has. At any 
rate, it will do no harm to find out. Now, here’s 
my plan. Next vacation you and I will spend a 
night in your uncle’s house. You needn’t look so 
scared. Of course, you’re horribly afraid now. 
That’s because you’re sickly. But you’ll be all 
right by next summer, and you’ll enjoy the prospect 
of that night in a haunted house just as much as I 
do now.” 

“I won’t make the promise, Tom.” 

“That’s right,” answered my romantic friend. 
“But next spring I’ll ask you the same question, 
and I’m perfectly sure that you’ll say yes.” 

“I doubt it.” 

“No matter; and, Harry, if you don’t mind I’ll 
tell Percy all about the matter. You can trust 
Percy a thousand miles further than you can see 
him.” 

“Certainly, Tom, tell Percy.” 

From after-knowledge I am now certain that Tom 
did not believe my uncle’s house to be haunted. 
But my new friend liked anything that gave promise 
of adventure, and the prospect of passing a night in 
a lone house was something after his heart. 

During the day my imagination, despite my en- 
deavors to the contrary, kept running on the unlovely 


HARRY DEE. 


63 


memories of the night I spent at my uncle’s. Hor- 
rible pictures flashed before me, over and over 
again, without order and without sequence. It was 
as though I myself were haunted. The swimming 
incident had unstrung my nerves; and my long talk 
with Tom had freshened into vividness the details 
of a night vivid enough as they ever were without 
my recalling them. 

With evening these haunting memories grew 
stronger; to use a bold word, they became aggres- 
sive; and when I retired to rest I was in an extreme 
state of nervousness. 

There they came, as I tossed restlessly upon my 
bed — the gloomy house, my gloomy uncle, the scowl- 
ing Caggett, my angry nurse. At once the picture 
changed, and I was standing, terror-stricken, gazing 
into my uncle’s room and contemplating that sad 
sight. This picture stared at me for a few moments, 
then vanished — it did not fade away — and at once 
another picture was gazing at me. I say gazing at 
me, for I know no other form of words to give the 
reader an adequate idea of the manner in which these 
pictures came and went. This picture was of a 
little boy leaping from a bed, a scream of terror 
upon his lips. He looks about him wildly — at the 
blood upon his night-shirt, at the blood upon the 
floor, at that pathetic glove bathed in purple, and 
as I gaze at this picture and it at me, it becomes 
more and more vivid, clearer, distincter — no vision, 
but a reality, and reaching the last degree of vivid- 
ness, I become a part of the picture, I become the 
little boy; I, too, leap from my bed just as on that 
awful morning, and again scream in an ecstasy of 
terror : 


64 


HARRY DEE. 


“Help! murder!” 

And with these words the spell is broken: and 
trembling in every limb, with a great sob bursting 
from my bosom, I find myself standing in the dormi- 
tory surrounded by boys with faces white as a 
sheet and gazing upon me in awe and horror; and 
before I can realize where I am, a soft hand is 
caressing my cheek, a soft voice is whispering sooth- 
ing words into my ear — as a mother soothes her 
frightened babe. It is Percy, the only one of all 
the boys who has not been disconcerted by my 
scream. He is perfect master of himself, and the 
only emotion upon his expressive face is intelligent 
sympathy. 

“Wake Mr. Middleton,” chattered one of the boys 
nearest me. 

Strange to say, Mr. Middleton did not awake, 
even on this occasion. He was the soundest of 
sleepers. 

“No, you don’t,” whispered Keenan authorita- 
tively. “Just let him have his sleep out. He 
deserves all he gets.” 

“You are always considerate, George,” whispered 
Percy. “We can arrange this matter ourselves. 
I’ll take Harry over to the infirmary and stay be- 
side him for the rest of the night.” 

“No, you don’t, Percy,” said Tom. “You’ve 
had your innings already. I’ll take him.” 

Hereupon there arose a whispered discussion. 
Donnel and Keenan and Quip put in claims, too. 
At length it was decided that Percy should have 
the office, whereupon Keenan turned round and 
said : 

“Now, boys, hop into bed. I’m acting prefect.” 


HARRY DEE. 


The boys, who had recovered from their fright, 
gave a little series of giggles and obeyed. 

I shall say little of that night in the infirmary. 
It is a fragrant memory. Percy was not an angel, 
for angels are not made of clay; but as he bent over 
me that night with his tender smile and his gracious 
words, as from out his blue eyes there shown that 
unselfish love which is not of the earth earthy, I 
thanked God from my heart for this object-lesson 
in the sublime nobility of human nature. 


CHAPTER X. 


IN WHICH WE DIVIDE OUR ATTENTION BETWEEN BASE- 
BALL AND LA TIN. AND ARE PREPARED FOR A CONTEST 
IN THE ONE AND AN EX AM IN A TION IN THE OTHER. 



HE nervous attack of which I spoke in the pre- 


1 ceding chapter was, I might say, the first 
and last that I suffered at St. Maure’s. With each 
day I seemed to gain strength and vigor. Little by 
little my nervous facial twitching disappeared, and 
before Christmas the attentive physician of the col- 
lege pronounced me well. 

How calmly and peacefully these golden months 
glided on. During October and the early part of 
November baseball held its own in the yard. Tom 
was unwearied in training his nine. Although he 
seldom called upon me to pitch, and even then but 
for a few innings, yet he gave me many words of 
encouragement. 

“ Just wait,” he said, “ ‘till the flowers that bloom 
in the spring, tra la, give promise of merry sun- 
shine.’ Then we’ll turn you loose in the box, and 


5 


66 


HARRY DEE. 


we’ll show the second nine of the big yard a trick or 
two.” 

Tom was ambitious. It was his darling idea to 
play and defeat the Junior nine of the senior divi- 
sion. To most of our fellows the proposition 
seemed a trifle wild. But Tom had some foundation 
for the faith that was in him. To begin with, he 
counted on a strong infield. Joe Whyte was first 
baseman. As a batter Joe was weak, nor was he 
reliable in stopping grounders; but for holding a 
thrown ball he was perfect in his way. At second 
base he had John Donnel, a faultless fielder — he 
was called the king of second base — and the strongest 
batsman on the nine. Indeed, it was generally held 
that John was superior in safe hitting to any of the 
large-yard Junior nine. 

George Keenan covered short field. This very 
little fellow contrived to be everywhere; always in 
the right place and at the right time. Fairly strong 
at the bat, he was at his best when running the bases. 
He could twist and turn with such agility that it 
was almost impossible to catch him off his guard, 
although he played off further from base than any 
one of our players. Third base was covered by 
Charles Richards. He was a strong batter, excellent 
for running catches, but not over-reliable at stopping 
ground balls. As for the outfield. Quip at centre 
and Ruthers at right were fair catchers and excel- 
lent throwers, although both were weak batsmen. 
Harry Quip, however, redeemed this defect by ex- 
cellent base-running. Percy was the left fielder; he 
had one weak point, and that was in throwing. He 
could scarcely put a ball on a line from his ordinary 
position to second base. But, saving this, he was a 


HARRY DEE. 


67 


phenomenon. He had a knack, which few fielders 
possess, of being able to judge a fly almost as soon 
as it was knocked. And when he got hold of a ball 
he clasped it, as it were, “ with hooks of steel,” 
that is, with two small, delicate hands, large enough, 
however, to hold any ball that came within their 
grasp. As for running, his speed was something 
extraordinary. Tom, Keenan, and even Donnel 
had to give in to him in this; although he was not 
as quick in recovering himself as George. Thus 
far Percy, fair in his batting, had done little in the 
way of base-stealing. But it was just on this point 
that Tom founded something of his hopes. He 
counted on Percy’s becoming a phenomenal base- 
stealer before spring; and he himself had Percy in 
private training during the winter. 

Tom himself was our catcher; and he was as 
steady, cool, and reliable there as any captain could 
be. He never lost his head, never flagged in his 
attention, never missed a point in the game. In 
throwing to bases he was considered second only to 
Ryan, the best catcher of the senior students. 

But now for our nine’s weakest point. I was on 
the list to pitch. It was evident to every one that 
unless I gained more speed the big boys would 
knock out two and three baggers almost at will. 
On the other hand, it was admitted that my curves 
were very good and that my command of the ball 
was unusual. As to my general playing abilities, 
beyond doubt I was the worst of all the “ Blue 
Clippers.” My batting was wretched and my base- 
running of a piece with it. Worst of all, I was 
very unsure in catching those twisting flies that are 
so often popped up for the benefit of the pitcher. 


68 


HARRY DEE. 


But for all this, Tom protested that I’d be on 
hand in the spring with speed enough and endurance 
enough to face the heavy batters of the Juniors for 
nine innings. 

As for the opposing nine, they were clearly our 
superiors in batting, and they were provided, more- 
over, with an excellent pitcher. So matters stood in 
the autumn, at which period it would have been 
downright folly even to attempt a game with the 
boys whom we purposed defeating in the spring. 

I should add that the Juniors were in blissful 
ignorance of our lofty aspirations. During the win- 
ter season they forgot their baseball and devoted 
themselves between study-hours to sports suitable 
to the changing months. Not so with us. Tom 
kept us all at a regular course of gymnastics ; besides 
which training, he contrived to pay special attention 
to Percy and myself. 

In the mean time studies went on briskly. How 
our set did soak themselves in their Latin author! 
We spent the whole of the Latin class-hour in 
trying to catch one another. In this Percy was 
the quickest and Tom next. As for knowledge 
of Latin, I was considered the best. This, I could 
easily see, was not due to any mental superiority on 
my part, but to the fact that I had had a private 
tutor to help me and more time to give to the 
study. It was clear to me that for taking in new 
matter Tom and Percy were easily my superiors, 
and I had no doubt that by the end of the year 
both would at the very least be on a par with me in 
actual knowledge of the language. 

Nor did we confine ourselves to the class- work; 
once or twice a week we held informal meetings. 


HARRY DEE. 


69 


Then, under my guidance, the ambitious young 
students read my selection from Cicero’s letters. 
Before Christmas, indeed, they knew as much of these 
five hundred lines as I did myself; so that during 
the holidays we were all casting about for some- 
thing new. I was at the end of my tether; the 
others had all read the same authors. We would 
have liked to have Mr. Middleton preside over our 
Ciceronian meetings, but we knew that what with 
his teaching and his prefecting he had all the work 
he could possibly attend to. Mr. Middleton solved 
our dilemma. 

“ Get Keenan,” he said, “ to go over a bit of '‘Fro 
Archia Poeta ’ with you. It’s true you’ll see it again 
in poetry class; but even so, you’ll not lose by it.” 

Keenan gladly assented to our request ; and during 
the months of January, February, and March we 
parsed, translated, analyzed, imitated, and memo- 
rized one hundred and fifty lines of '' Pro Archia 
Poeta. ” 

Of course we didn’t do all this because we looked 
upon it as fun, but we really did like Latin; and we 
really did love Mr. Middleton; and we really did 
hope to make, at very worst, a strong fight the fol- 
lowing year for the intercollegiate gold medal. 

I suppose all of us felt weary and disgusted at 
times — I know I did. But there was a spirit of 
energy in us, a spirit, you may be sure, breathed into 
us by our enthusiastic teacher, and daily kept alive 
and nourished by his heartening words. 

During the second half of the year we began to 
talk Latin in class. As an encouragement to talk at 
all, Mr. Middleton offered a prize for the first week 
to the one who should make the most blunders. 


70 


HAJ^IiY DEE. 


Tom Playfair won it easily, with Harry Quip a dis- 
tant second. 

After a month the prize was for the one who 
should make the least blunders; and, if I may antici- 
pate, in June he was to receive the prize who em- 
ployed in his class-talk the greatest number of 
classical idioms. Percy and myself were a tie at 
the end, and received each of us a very pretty pic- 
ture. 

It was the morning of March 21st; the sun, which 
had risen a few hours before in a burst of splendor, 
was now shining with the bridal brightness of 
spring. The sweet twitter of the early birds fell 
welcome upon our ears; while the fresh green 
grass just peeping out of the earth and the swelling 
buds on the trees gave promise of beautiful blossoms 
and joyous ramblings over the grassy prairies, of 
wild flowers, and all the scents and sounds that are 
connected with the prettiest time of all the year. 

The small boy loves life; and therefore he loves 
spring. To him there is a glory about the budding 
tree and divinely-painted flower which is dimmed 
or invisible to the eye of an adult. The wild 
freshness of spring touches a wild freshness of sym- 
pathy in the heart of the small boy. 

Tom was as gay as the season. 

“Harry,” he exclaimed, as his eyes feasted upon 
the landscape, “it’s spring.” 

“I’ve observed it,” I answered. 

“ And how much did you weigh when you came 
here ?” 

“ Eighty pounds.” 

“And what is it now?” 

“ Qne hundred and three,” 


HARRY DEE, 


71 


“ And do you think you could stand nine innings?” 

I laughed. 

“If the batters can stand it I can.” 

“So, you see, I was right when I said you’d be 
well by spring. Now, remember, on or about the 
15th of April we’re going to play the large boys one 
game.” 

“Only one?” I inquired. 

“Well, yes,” answered Tom. “It will be too 
much, of a strain on us to tackle them often; and 
besides, either we’ll beat them the first time or we 
won’t. If we do, we’re satisfied; if we don’t, we’ll 
scarcely be able to do it this year; for we intend to 
put in our best licks in a lump.” 

“Well, you may rely upon it, Tom, that I’ll do 
my best to help on. But isn’t our class-specimen 
to come off about the same time?” 

“ That’s what I’ve counted on,” said Tom. “ We’re 
going to make that a success, you know; and then 
we’ll be flushed with success, as they say. Six of 
the players are in our class, and if they can stand up 
before a board of reverend examiners successfully 
they won’t be afraid to face a big boy with a ball in 
his hand.” 

Tom was of opinion that the same energy which 
could conquer difficulties in the classics could also 
conquer difficulties on the play-ground. To him 
the boy who was leader in the play-ground and dunce 
in the class-room was a freak, a lusus naturce. As a 
matter of fact, all of his players were as quick with 
their wits as with their limbs; in choosing his nine 
he had selected those who were fair in sports and in 
studies, in preference to better afhlqtes with muddier 
intellects. 


72 


HARRY DEE. 


Spring, then, passed on with even pace. She set 
the birds a-singing and painted the flowers in all 
their glory of color and scented the breeze with her 
perfumes. She brought the brightest of sunshine 
and the bluest of skies and the greenest of swards. 
But strong as was her charm she could not allure the 
Academic boys from their books. They studied right 
on in hours of study, and then when play-time came 
they breathed in the vernal glories all the more joy- 
ously that they had done their duty. 

And so the time flew till April 12th arrived — the 
morning of the specimen. 


CHAPTER XI. 

IN WHICH PERCY WYNN MEETS WITH A FAILURE. 

T he president, vice-president, and dean of the 
faculty honored our specimen with their pres- 
ence and attention. 

Charlie Richards delivered a neatly-worded open- 
ing address, concluding his remarks by inviting the 
distinguished visitors to examine the class in Eng- 
lish, Latin, and Greek. 

The Precepts in English Composition were first 
taken as subject-matter for examination. The boys, 
thoroughly drilled as they had been all along in 
memory work, answered with such ease that after 
the lapse of fifteen minutes the president called a 
halt. 

“That is too easy for your boys, Mr. Middleton; 
we’ll take them on something where we’ll get a 
fairer chance of puzzling them.” 

Then came the tug of war. 


HAI^RY DEE. 73 

Sallust, bristling with idiom, formed a splendid 
pike de resistance for the acute examiners. 

They put questions right and left, but the answers 
came from right and left with almost equal readi- 
ness. Presently translation was abandoned and 
the field of syntax was invaded. Here we held our 
ground ; we had taken nothing for granted in get- 
ting up our position, and consequently had no un- 
protected points. The examiners were flushed and 
smiling; the more they asked, the more their smil- 
ing grew. But what pleased us most was the fact 
that Mr. Middleton was gratified. He himself had 
not counted upon such readiness. 

Finally, the president turned to our professor: 
“ Mr. Middleton, this won’t do. We came here to 
see what these boys are lacking in, and here they’ve 
been parading their knowledge for over an hour. 
Can’t you give us a hint as to where we can catch 
them ?” 

“I would suggest, Father, that you try them in 
off-hand theme-work, modelling your sentences on 
the passages they have seen in the text-book. I 
should state, in justice to the class, however, that 
they did not expect such an ordeal.” 

The president was pleased with the suggestion. 
“Well, I’ll make compensation,” he said. “Now, 
my dear boys, I promise to give a fine book to any 
one among you who holds out the longest in giv- 
ing correct off-hand translations. Your own teacher 
shall be the referee; when any one makes a blunder 
Mr. Middleton will rule him out.” 

Playfair, Percy, Quip, Whyte, Ruthers, Eichards, 
and myself were delighted with this plan. None 
of us had anticipated any such line of questions in 


74 


HARRY BEE. 


the specimen, but, as a matter of private work, we 
had repeatedly gone over our author, each one of 
us in turn building sentences in English, and the 
rest of us rendering them into Latin similar in 
form and idiom to the style of Sallust. Others of 
the class, however, were dismayed, not that they 
were unfit, but that they lacked confidence. 

Very soon the examiners were hard at us, pelting 
us with simple sentences. One by one we were 
asked in turn, and at the end of three rounds not a 
boy had been remanded to his seat. But now the 
examiners, following the initiative of the president, 
fell to introducing “kinks” into their sentences, 
whereupon the slaughter commenced. Ten of our 
twenty-five classmates succumbed at the first fierce 
onset, leaving fifteen of us in the field. At the next 
charge seven bit the dust. There were now left 
Percy, Tom, Quip, Whyte, Ruthers, Richards, and 
myself. 

To the surprise and dismay of all, Percy tripped 
on an irregular verb and, blushing violently, went to 
his seat. We all pitied him, for there wasn’t a bet- 
ter scholar or a more popular boy in the class. 
Whyte, Ruthers, and Richards soon followed him, 
and there remained Tom, Harry Quip, and myself. 

But, as the saying is, we had gained our second 
wind. Tom was cool, as usual, and steadied us. 

“Stick up for the honor of the class, boys,” he 
whispered. “ Don’t answer till you’re sure.” 

We followed the advice, and held our positions 
for half an hour longer. The clock struck eleven. 

“Two hours are up,” §aid the president. “The 
contest is at an end. My dear students, permit me 
to congratulate you on the very extraordinary speci- 


HARRY DEE. 


75 


men you have given. If it were possible to be 
above the standard of the class — and that is an open 
question into which I shall not enter — I would say 
that in Latin you certainly are above the standard. 
Your contest in off-hand theme-work is one in which 
boys of higher classes seldom come off with honor. 
Certainly, if you can write Latin as you speak it, 
there’s a chance, and a good chance too, for you to 
carry off the collegiate honors. For the rest of the 
day you are free.” 

That last sentence was the sort of peroration we 
wanted; on this occasion, indeed, it was a surprise. 

Of course, we had a pleasant time of it. Percy 
made light of his failure. “I thought a little too 
much of my Latin,” he said. “ It humbled me very 
much to fail. But to my mind nothing succeeds 
like failure.” And then Percy congratulated the 
three of us with a genuineness which showed us all 
how defeat may be turned into victory. 


CHAPTER XII. 

IN WHICH IS BEGUN A FULL AND TRUE ACCOUNT OF A 
GREAT BASEBALL GAME. 

T he sun rose in an almost cloudless sky upon 
the long-looked-for day. I was wondering, as 
I proceeded to First Academic, how our boys would 
bend themselves to their work. Mr. Middleton re- 
ceived us with a smile more genial, if possible, than 
usual. 

“Now, boys,” he said, after concluding prayers, 
“ will you be good enough to promise to pay close 
attention ?” 


76 


HARRY DEE. 


“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” exclaimed many. 

“We’ll do our level best, Mr. Middleton,” said 
honest Tom, “but-a — you know how it is, don’t 
you, Mr. Middleton?” 

Tom was almost pathetic in putting this question. 

“So,” continued Mr. Middleton, “you Blue Clip- 
pers are going to put on your baseball uniforms for 
the first time this afternoon?” 

“Yes, sir!” cried six voices as one. 

“And you’re going to be beaten hands down.” 

“ No, sir!” was the unanimous answer. 

“ Well, for the next two hours I want you to put 
baseball out of your heads.” 

Mr. Middleton paused, while the boys gazed at 
one another ruefully. 

“ Because,” continued the professor gravely, “I 
am going to read you a story.” 

I wish we could have been instantaneously pho- 
tographed at that moment. Such a collection of 
genial smiles and sparkling eyes never yet, I dare 
say, fell under the camera. 

“Isn’t he a teacher and a half!” exclaimed Tom, 
sotto-voce. 

The “ teacher and a half ” had selected a tale of 
absorbing interest, and he made what would have 
been the dullest and longest hours of the year a 
little jaunt through fairyland. 

At three o’clock we Blue Clippers emerged from 
our dressing-room in all the splendor of our new 
uniforms.. We came out in single file, with Frank 
Burdock in full uniform as mascot and scorer at our 
head. The other boys of the small yard, who had 
been awaiting our appearance with no little impa- 
tience, gave us a rousing cheer; and, indeed, I think 


HARRY DEE. 


77 


that we presented a brave appearance. With the 
exception of myself all of us were strongly built. 
Percy was a trifle slim, but his erect carriage and 
grace of motion made him the most striking figure 
of us all. 

Our costume was simple: white flannel shirts, 
with “ Blue Clippers ” lettered across the breast, 
white knee-breeches, blue stockings, blue belt, and 
a white cap. 

Torn was proud of our appearance. 

“You look like poems,” he observed. “It’s a 
pity,” he added, turning to me, “that we didn’t pad 
your legs a little bit, but you’ll pass muster, any- 
how. You stand straight now, and have left your 
wretched stoop behind with your delicate health. 
Forward, boys!” 

And forward we marched, escorted by a noisy fol- 
lowing, to the baseball field. The large boys were 
already at practice; but at a quarter past three sharp 
they resigned the grounds in our favor. We tossed 
the ball from hand to hand for a few minutes, then 
retired to the players’ bench, satisfied that we could 
move about in our uniforms with all the ease that 
we had anticipated. 

Tom won the toss, and at 3:30 Willie Tipp set 
himself to beating a tin can as an indication that 
we were to take the field. 

On taking my place in the pitcher’s box, I felt 
not a little nervous. I was to make my dehut be- 
fore the whole college. A large boy named Foley 
was the umpire. As he stationed himself behind 
the batter and threw me the ball, his call of “ Game 
— Play ” was lost in the shout of enthusiasm that 
arose from the spectators. 


7S 


HARRY DEE. 


In order that the reader may follow the game, I 
append the batting order and the positions of the 
contending sides: 

BLUE CLIPPERS. 

Wynn, 1 . f. Quip, c. f. 

Keenan, s. s. Richards, 3d base. 

Donnel, 2d base. Ruthers, r. f. 

Playfair, c. Whyte, ist base. 

Dee, p. 


Cleary, 3d base. 
O’Connor, s. s. 
Drew, 2d base. 
O’Malley, 1 . f. 


JUNIORS. 

Fox, c. f. 
Earle, c. 
Hudson, r. f. 
Poulin, p. 


Bennett, ist base. 


First Inning. — Cleary tapped his bat against the 
home plate and stood awaiting my pleasure. 

“ One ball,” called the umpire as my first pitched 
ball curved away from the plate. 

“ One strike,” as the second curved in and over it. 

I next gave him a drop. He caught it close to 
the handle of his bat and sent it bounding to me. 
I fumbled the ball, then got a firm hold of it, and 
sent it in my excitement at least three feet over the 
first baseman’s head. Donnel was behind him, how- 
ever, and caught it. Cleary was safe on first. 

Following Tom’s directions, I gave O’Connor a 
number of incurves, and to the joy of the small boys 
he retired op three strikes. 

Drew sent the third ball I pitched him bounding 
slowly toward short field. Keenan came in at a 
dead run, picked it up neatly, and threw it to Don- 
nel at second, who in turn threw it to first base. 


HARRY DEE. 


79 


“Out at second — safe on^first,” cried Foley. 

I threw an outcurve to O’Malley, and it seemed 
to be just the sort of a ball he wanted. There was 
a sharp crack as his bat met the ball, which went 
sailing far over Quip’s head into centre field, and 
before it could be returned to the diamond O’Malley 
was standing breathless on second, while Drew, amid 
the plaudits of the large boys, had scored. Fox re- 
tired his side by striking out. 

When Percy Wynn stepped up to the home plate 
there arose a loud cheer. With the possible excep- 
tion of Tom, he was now the most popular boy in the 
college. 

“Everybody likes Percy,” said Ryan, who hap- 
pened to be near me. “ You should have seen him last 
year when he first came ! He could hardly do anything 
except look pretty. One would never have imagined 
that he’d turn out a ball-player. He hasn’t lost any 
of his gracefulness, but he’s gained strength, and 
physical courage, and endurance. Some of the boys 
sneered at him a great deal when he first came ; now 
they’re shouting for him at the top of their voices.” 

Percy contrived to bother the pitcher a good deal. 
One ball and one strike were called; then two balls. 
Percy struck at the next and made a foul. The um- 
pire finally gave him his base on balls. 

There was a buzz of enthusiasm. 

“What’s the excitement?” I asked Ryan. 

“ The boys expect some great base-running from 
him. They know he’s a good runner, and they 
know, too, that Playfair would not put so weak a 
batter first on his list without a good reason.” 

And now Tom stood near first base and began 
coaching. 


8o 


HARRY DEE. 


“ Double A, double E,” he exclaimed. 

Percy took more ground, while the hum of voices 
died away. 

“Double E A E,” continued Tom. 

The pitcher stood in consternation, staring blankly 
at the coacher. 

“ Triple A,” shouted our captain. 

With the exception of the Blue Clippers, every one 
was nonplussed. This was the first time within the 
experience of any one that coaching had been done 
by algebraic formulas. 

With the expression of consternation still on his 
face the pitcher sent in the ball for Keenan, and 
as he raised his arm Percy dashed down the base 
line with a speed and grace seldom found together. 
Earle sent the ball on a low line-throw to 
Drew. 

“He’s out, sure,” said Ryan. 

But just as he spoke Percy “took a header,” and 
ploughed his way, as well as I could judge, full 
fifteen feet. He reached the base after the ball, it 
is true, but before Drew could touch him with it. 

There was a great shout. 

“That’s the best slide I’ve seen here yet!” said 
Ryan, with enthusiasm. “ It takes lots of nerve and 
dash even to try it. Who’d think that Percy Wynn 
would be the first to show us how to make the ‘Co- 
miskey’ slide?” 

Keenan drove the next ball bounding to the sec- 
ond baseman and was called out at first, while Percy 
took third. Donnel, after two strikes had been 
called on him, sent the ball on a fly back of the 
shortstop. Percy stood on his base till it fell into 
O’Connor’s hands, then dashed for home. 


HARRY DEE, 


8i 


“You’ve got to slide!” bawled Tom as O’Connor 
threw the ball in to the catcher. 

And Percy did slide. As before, the ball had 
beaten him, but the catcher did not succeed in touch- 
ing him, and Percy emerged from a cloud of dust 
safe on home. Tom now came to the bat, and was 
easily retired on a foul tip. Score, i to i. 

Second Inning. — I had more confidence in myself 
as I resumed my place in the pitcher’s box. Follow- 
ing Tom’s signs, I easily struck out Earle and Hud- 
son; Poulin sent a hot grounder to Richards, who 
fumbled it, and immediately after, as I pitched my 
hrst ball to Bennett, made a run for second. Tom 
threw the ball straight and low to Donnel in the nick 
of time to touch the runner. This was the first 
whitewash of the game. 

For our side, Harry Quip died on a grounder to 
the third baseman, Richards struck out, and Ruth- 
ers was retired on a fly back of third base. Score 
at the end of second inning, i to i. 

Third Inning. — Bennett took the first ball I offered 
him, and as it rose into the air far, far out in left 
field, there was a groan from the small boys and a 
shout from the seniors. But almost at once every 
noise was hushed, and three hundred pairs of strain- 
ing eyes were bent upon our left fielder, who was 
racing at full speed in the direction of the falling ball. 

Will he get his hands on it? Hardly; and even 
if he does he will scarcely hold it. Now he is al- 
most under it. Look! he takes a bound into the 
air — and then there’s such roaring and shouting and 
clapping of hands as only a phenomenal play by a 
general favorite can excite. 

“That’s what I call fielding,” said the second 
6 


82 


HARRY DEE. 


baseman of the large yard. “ That Wynn started for 
the ball before most of us knew it had been struck. 
He’s got the trick of judging a ball as soon as it’s 
touched. I’ve seldom seen as pretty a running 
catch.” 

For two or three minutes it was impossible to go 
on with the game. The spectators bawled them- 
selves hoarse. At length, in obedience to a sign 
from Tom, Percy touched his cap, whereupon the 
noise died away and play was resumed. 

Cleary drove a liner over the shortstop’s head 
and took »first. O’Connor followed up the good 
work by popping a fly into short right field, where 
no one could get it; Cleary made third on it. 
Things were now in a critical state. O’Connor 
started for second as soon as I pitched. Tom threw 
the ball with all his force to Donnel, and as he did 
so the runner on third made for home. Donnel lost 
no time; his catching the ball and touching the run- 
ner seemed to be simultaneous; then he returned it 
quickly to Tom in time to touch Cleary out on 
home, thus accomplishing a neat double play. 

Our first baseman struck out and, I am sorry to 
say, I followed his example. But there was a re- 
vival of enthusiasm as Percy stepped up to the 
home plate. Percy was not a strong batter by any 
means, so he made it a study to get his base by other 
than hard hitting. He bunted the third ball 
pitched to him and easily beat it to first. He 
made second on a passed ball; then on the next ball 
pitched ran for third. It was an exhilarating sight 
to see his slender, supple figure bounding over the 
turf — his mouth firmly closed, his eyes dilated with 
excitement, and his fair, almost feminine face 


HARRY DEE. 


83 


flushed with exertion. For the third time Percy 
accomplished his great “slide;” the ball and he 
were on third together. 

“How’s that, umpire?” called Cleary. 

“ Out on third.” 

Tom Playfair, who had been hopping about in an 
ecstasy on the coaching-line, turned about at these 
words, and, with his hands plunged deep in his pock- 
ets and his shoulders raised to his ears, walked off 
and disappeared behind the backstop, I concluded 
that he had gone aside to suppress his anger, for 
Tom had a high temper. But the crowd was not so 
heroic. Roars of indignation poured upon the 
startled umpire’s ears. 

“Get off the earth, Mr. Umpire,” cried Ryan. 
His request was taken up by the crowd, and petition 
after petition was proffered him to the same effect. 

The most furious spectator was Frank Burdock. 
With an expression on his face which would have 
rendered him invaluable to an artist as a model for 
a Gorgon, he advanced upon the alarmed umpire, 
and dancing with rage, hissed out: 

“Get a pair of goggles, you mud-eyed freak, ’’and 
then this small bundle of nerves, I am sorry to say, 
sputtered out an expression or two which astonished 
and dismayed his friend Percy. To put it plainly, 
he used some rather profane language. It should 
be remembered that poor little Frank’s early train- 
ing had not been of the best; and in this moment of 
supreme excitement old habits asserted themselves. 

Without stopping for breath, Frank went on: 

“Come on, you ugly mud-eye. l-W thrash you 
and your whole family.” 

This was too much for the umpire. He could 


84 


HARRY DEE. 


Stand the shouts of the college, but quailed beneath 
the blazing rage of the very diminutive boy. 

“ Safe on third,” he cried. 

This proved to be the prelude to another storm of 
indignation, in the midst of which Percy removed 
his furious little friend and brought him, with a few 
kind yet reproving words, to a sense of his scanda- 
lous behavior. Drew, the captain of the Juniors, 
was now giving the umpire a piece of his mind, and 
Tom, who, with an impassive face, had returned 
from behind the backstop, sided with Drew. And in- 
deed it w^asaplain case. Evidently the umpire had 
been intimidated into changing his decision. Tom 
poured oil upon the troubled waters; at his word 
our men stepped into the field, and we began the 

Fourth Inning. — Drew led off with a bounder to 
our third baseman and was thrown out. O’Malley, 
after knocking several fouls, was sent to first base on 
balls. Fox hit safely into centre. There were 
nov/ two men on bases and but one out. A slow 
grounder from Earle’s bat to Whyte, on which he 
went out, advanced the two runners to second and 
third. Hudson came to the bat, receiving an ova- 
tion from the large boys, with whom he was popular. 
Tom gave me a sign for a low ball, but unfortunately 
I pitched a high one; and Hudson sent it on a line 
over our first baseman’s head. Both runners made 
for home. O’Malley came in safely, and Fox was 
fairly on his way from third base, when an accurate 
throw from Quip nipped him at the plate. One 
run. 

Keenan for our side knocked an easy grounder to 
Cleary, who fumbled it. He stole second and made 
third on Donnel’s out at first. Tom knocked a fly 


HARRY DEE. 


ss 


into left field. O’Malley caught it, and recovered 
himself in time to throw out Keenan in his attempt 
to make home on the catch. Score: Juniors, 2; Blue 
Clippers, i. 

Fifth Inning. — This was an exciting inning. 
Poulin reached first on a line hit over second. He 
was advanced one bag by Bennett’s out at first. 
Cleary knocked an ugly grounder to Donnel, who 
succeeded in throwing him out without allowing 
Poulin to take third. O’Connor knocked me a slow 
grounder; before I had picked it up Poulin was 
close upon third base. I made a motion to throw 
it to third, but seeing that it was too late I lost 
my head, and before I could recover myself O’Con- 
nor stood safe on first. Drew was determined to 
make a hit. The third ball I delivered him seemed 
to be what he wanted, for he sent it on a low line 
into short left field. Percy was playing deep, but 
he made for the ball at once. On he came at a 
dead run, making what seemed to be a hopeless en- 
deavor to get his hands on the ball before it touched 
the ground. 

“He’s got it!” “ No, he hasn’t!” “He can’t get 
it!” Such were the exclamations as Percy literally 
threw himself at the ball, lost his balance, and made 
a complete somersault; and loud were the huzzas 
as he rose, holding the ball in his hand. 

“Batter out!” called the umpire. 

“We won’t stand it,” bawled Bennett. “He 
didn’t catch it on the fly; he got it on the short 
bound.” 

Drew, the captain, then came in and helped to 
make life unpleasant for the umpire. As for the 
crowd, their sympathies were with Percy. Many 


86 


HARRY DEE. 


thought that he had made a neat pick-up, but the 
play was so brilliant that they were glad the umpire 
had blundered. 

The squabbling went on. Every man on our 
nine came in save Percy and Quip and myself. 

“I say, Percy,” whispered Quip, “you didn’t 
catch that ball on the fly.” 

“ I know it,” answered Percy; “I didn’t say I did, 
either. ” 

“ Wouldn’t it be honest to go and tell the um- 
pire?” It was hard to say whether Quip were seri- 
ous or not in putting this question. 

“It would be absurd,” answered Percy. “In 
baseball such candor would be sentimental. I read 
a story in St. Nicholas once, where a boy sacrificed 
a game by announcing to the umpire that he had 
caught a ball on the short bound when the umpire 
had already decided it a fly catch. The story was 
very nice; but the writer didn’t understand the 
duties of umpire and player rightly. The umpire 
is to judge our plays by what he sees. If he decides 
me out when I’m not, through his own bad judg- 
ment, I grin and bear it; in the same way, if he de- 
clares me to have put a man out when I haven’t, I 
grin the more.” 

Percy was good, but he was not goody-goody. His 
conduct in baseball, you will notice, was consistent. 
When the umpire blundered into calling him out at 
third, he submitted gracefully. When the umpire 
again blundered in giving him a put-out where he 
had made none, he said nothing. In both cases he 
acted on the principle that the umpire was umpire, 
and that so long as he stood within the letter and 
principle of baseball rules, his decisions could not 


HARRY DEE. 


87 


be reversed. Despite the protests of the Juniors, 
the umpire clung to his decision and ordered them 
into the field. 

We of the Blues did nothing at the bat. Quip and 
Richards struck out and Ruthers was retired easily 
at first. 

But as this chapter is getting very long, and as 
the most exciting part of the game is yet to come, 
I think the reader will be willing to begin the sixth 
inning in 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IN WHICH IS CONTINUED AND CONCLUDED THE ACCOUNT 
OF OUR GREA T GAME OF BASEBALL, AND IN WHICH I 
MAKE AN AGREEMENT WITH TOM PLAYFAIR WHICH, 
AS THE READER WILL FIND OUT LATER, HAS AN IM- 
PORTANT BEARING UPON THIS STORY. 

O ’MALLEY got just such another ball as I had 
presented him in the first inning. It went 
further this time, and had it not been for Percy’s 
promptness in chasing and fielding the ball he would 
have made a home run on it. As it was, O’Malley 
reached third, amid the jubilations of his fellow- 
players. Fox knocked a swift liner straight at Joe 
Whyte, who caught it and sent it to third to catch 
O’Malley. Unfortunately the ball came on an ugly 
short bound to Richards and went rolling beyond 
him. Before he could recover it O’Malley had 
scored. Earle followed with a single base hit, stole 
second and remained there, as both Hudson and 
Poulin struck out. 

Our half of the inning was mercilessly short. 
Whyte batted a fly to Fox in centre field which Fox 
caught with ease. I struck out. Percy knocked a 


88 


HARRY DEE. 


grounder and was decided out at first on a very close 
decision. 

Seventh Inning. — Keenan accepted Bennett’s 
chance for an assist on an easy grounder. Cleary, 
who as a sure hitter had a reputation to sustain, 
missed the ball three times and retired to explain 
how it all happened. O’Connor’s long fly to left 
was caught by Percy. 

For our side Keenan opened with a model base hit 
and made second, while Donnel took first on a diffi- 
cult fly, which O’Connor muffed. Two men on base 
and no one out. We began to recover from the 
despondency into which we had been thrown by the 
events of the last inning. Tom went to the bat evi- 
dently determined to bring in a run. He struck at 
the first ball pitched him. There was a sharp click. 

“ Foul — out,” ruled the umpire. 

As a matter of fact Tom had not touched the ball. 
Earle had snapped his fingers as Tom struck, and 
the umpire had been deceived. For a few moments 
Tom was too angry to speak; he bit his lip, and at 
length recovering himself, called for time. Few if 
any of the spectators had detected the vile trick. 
I myself, as I happened to be standing near the 
home plate at the time, had noticed it. 

“ It’s too bad,” I said. 

“Yes; but what can’t be cured must be endured, 
I reckon. All the same I’ll see it doesn’t happen 
again. ” 

Drew, to whom Tom had motioned, was now at 
our side. 

“Look here, Dan,” said Tom. “That was no 
foul. Your catcher has worked a rowdyish trick, 
and we don’t want it to happen again.” 


V DEE. 89 

Drew became as angry as Tom. He was an honest 
boy and somewhat impetuous. 

“I’ll put that fellow in the field and bring in 
O’Malley,” he said. 

“No, no, Dan,” objected Tom. “I guess Earle 
acted according to his lights. But his lights are 
mighty poor. It’s no use making a show of him; 
but if you’d just tell him that we’ll stop playing if 
he does anything like that again, I think he’ll take 
the hint.” 

“Leave that to me,” said Drew. 

He took Earle aside and said a few short, sharp 
words in a low tone to that worthy which brought 
the blood to his cheeks ; then he returned to his posi- 
tion, leaving the audience to wonder what had been 
the occasion of the delay. Earle realized that it 
was to Tom’s generosity he owed it that he had not 
been publicly exposed. The lesson proved a good 
one. Ever after he treated Tom with unaffected 
respect. 

Nothing daunted, Tom set about coaching with 
more ardor than ever. 

You never heard such a storm of vowels as he set 
flying through the air. Double A and triple E, and 
I, O, U, and what-not came volleying forth; and 
when Harry Quip hit safely he advanced his letters 
to squares and cubes till he drove the opposing 
pitcher desperate. 

In vain did Drew call time to protest against this 
singular system of coaching. Our captain had pre- 
pared himself against such objections; and showed 
clearly that he was allowed any language which was 
not improper or indecent; “and what,” he added, 
“can be more innocent, more impersonal than the 


90 


HARRY DEE. 


sweet, full, harmonious vowels of our dear mother- 
tongue?” So Tom was permitted to continue his 
algebraic coaching. But for all his cries of double 
A square and triple E cube, Richards and Ruthers 
struck out, leaving three men on base, and the 
score 3 to I in our disfavor. 

Eighth Inning. — I think I was now at my best. In 
no wise tired, the nervous dread consequent upon 
facing large boys for the first time had now com- 
pletely disappeared; and I was determined to give 
my opponents the sort of balls that they did not 
want. Tom had taught me to study each batter. 
In playing among ourselves I had followed his ad- 
vice, and had soon learned to measure any batsman’s 
strong and weak points after facing him twice or 
thrice. 

Drew struck out, O’Malley knocked me a baby fly, 
which, for a wonder, I held, and Fox followed 
Drew’s example. 

Joe Whyte succeeded in hitting the ball, but it 
was awaiting him at first. I, too, sent the ball roll- 
ing feebly toward short field. The shortstop, 
pressed for time, threw wide to first base. Percy 
again became a runner by securing his base on balls, 
thus advancing me to second; whereupon Tom began 
to invoke all the vowels of the English language in 
such wise that the pitcher lost his head and gave 
Keenan his base on a balk. So there we stood, 
three men on base, when Donnel stepped up to the 
home plate. Honest John was so nervous that he 
reached at every ball pitched him, and retired dis- 
consolate, with three strikes charged against him. 

Tom received a rousing cheer as he stepped up to 
the bat. He was calm and collected, and the small 


HARRY DEE. 


91 


yard was preparing to cheer as one man. He gave 
the third ball pitched him a vicious blow, and a 
great cry of exultation arose as it shot out into left 
field. But O’Malley had been playing far out for 
Tom’s particular benefit, and with a side run suc- 
ceeded in pulling down what might have been a 
three-bagger. Score, 3 to i in favor of the 
Juniors. 

Ninth Inning. — Assured that the game was now in 
their hands, the big boys batted carelessly and went 
out in one-two-three order. 

Quip opened for us with a single; and the large 
boys’ nine began to look very serious when Quip 
stole second and came in on Richards’ safe hit into 
right field. One run at last; another, and there 
would be a tie. Richards, following Harry’s exam- 
ple, dashed for second on the first ball pitched. 
Earle threw wild and he was safe. Ruthers knocked 
a bounder to the second baseman and was retired, 
while Richards was advanced to third. 

The excitement was now intense. But one man 
out, but one run needed, Richards on third — but, 
alas! all our weak batters to follow. 

“Hit it, Joe Whyte — knock the cover off!’’ im- 
plored Tom. “Keep cool and you’ll do it, sure.” 

And Joe did keep cool. He knocked a long fly 
into right field. It was prettily caught, but before 
Hudson could recover himself Richards was half- 
way home and the game was a tie. I came to the 
bat and concluded the innings by striking out. 
Score, 3 to 3. As every boy reader knows, a tenth 
inning became necessary to decide the game. 

Tenth Inning. — Bennett sent a very hot grounder 
directly over second base. In what manner Keenan 


92 


HARRY DEE, 


ever got there no one could see; but, all the same, 
he chased the ball on a dead run, and with his right 
hand alone secured it far out in short centre field. 
How he recovered himself so quickly and, as the 
runner was within a few feet of the base, sent it like 
a shot to Whyte, and how Whyte held the ball, 
thrown as it had been, is something that the boys 
discussed for days afterward. It was a wonderful 
play on the part of both ; and the game had to be 
stopped till George and Joe had each doffed his cap 
to the applauding spectators. Just as play was about 
to be resumed there came another interruption. 
Joe discovered that a blood-blister had formed upon 
his right-hand index-finger, which had not been 
accustomed to handle such vicious throws as George’s 
had been. Tom, after some deliberation, ordered 
Quip and Whyte to exchange positions, and play was 
at length resumed. Cleary struck out and O’Con- 
nor was retired by Tom on a foul fly. 

Now was our chance. We built strong hopes 
upon this, the tenth inning of the game; for Percy 
was to be first at the bat. He advanced to the 
home plate, blushing yet cool. And well might he 
blush! There was a tumult of applause; the large 
boys clapped their hands vigorously; the smaller 
screamed and threw their hats in air and many of 
them actually danced. Little Frank, who since his 
outburst had been scoring with bent and averted 
head to conceal his tears of mortification, now 
jumped to his feet and offered to bet fifty dollars 
that Percy would make a run. He had no takers. 

I think Percy’s turn at the bat must have occupied 
full five minutes. It was a game of strategy between 
him and Poulin; both were most deliberate. The 


HARRY DEE. 


93 


pitcher, who now knew Percy’s weakness at the bat, 
was determined -to force him to hit the ball, while 
Percy was equally determined not to be forced. 

“One ball,” called the umpire. 

“ One strike ” — Percy had made no attempt to hit 
at the ball — “ Foul. ” 

“ Two balls.” 

“ Foul.” 

“ Three balls.” 

The next came straight over the plate, but as low 
as Percy’s knee. He stood like a statue as it passed 
him. 

“ Two strikes.” 

The next ball promised to be decisive. There 
was a funereal silence. Frank Burdock’s face was 
aglow with excitement. Many a boy held his 
breath to await the issue. 

The ball at length came straight toward the plate 
and low. Percy was obliged to take it. 

“Foul,” called the umpire. 

The suspense was renewed. 

The next ball came wide. 

“ Four balls — take your base.” 

“Now, Keenan, keep it up, old boy,” cried Tom. 

At the first ball pitched Percy dashed for second. 
How he flew over the ground! Before he had 
cleared half the distance a hundred spectators, trans- 
ported with enthusiasm, came crowding about the 
diamond. As before, Percy accomplished his great 
slide-. He simply tore up the ground, and in his 
course sent Drew,, who was still waiting for the ball, 
head over heels. Percy had clearly beaten the ball. 
But when he picked himself up after his collision 
with Drew he looked quite pale, although he wore 


94 


HARRY DEE. 


'his usual pleasant smile. Our captain noticed the 
change. 

When the spectators had been cleared off the field 
and the pitcher had taken his place in the box, Tom 
called for time. 

“Frank,” he whispered to Burdock, “get a glass 
of water and bring it to Percy while I’m talking.” 

Then for five minutes or more did Tom wrangle 
with the umpire and Drew about the legality of 
Poulin’s method of pitching. He quoted the rules, 
brought out “Spalding’s Base Ball Guide,” and 
fought every point he could raise to the bitter end. 
He gained nothing he claimed, but everything he 
wanted, namely, time for Percy to recover from the 
bad shaking-up he had suffered. 

Of course Tom might have called time and given 
as the reason that the base-runner had injured him- 
self. But, with his rare tact, he divined at once that 
Percy, ordinarily cool and self-contained, would be 
put to the blush by the universal sympathy and 
suffer more keenly from the pity and attention of 
the spectators than from his physical injuries. So 
Tom contrived to get his friend the needed rest, 
and by his flow of words to centre the attention of 
every one upon himself. After an interval of some 
three or four minutes Tom gave in gracefully, and 
the game was continued. 

Evidently Percy had fully recovered. He worried 
the pitcher not a little by the manner in which 
he played up and down between the positions of 
second base and shortstop. He had thrown off 
his cap, and with his head bent slightly forward and 
his eyes fixed upon the ball, he moved up and down 
with a suppleness, a lightning quickness to recover. 


HARRY DEE. 


95 


to turn one way or the other, that delighted the on- 
lookers as much as it annoyed the Juniors. Every 
time that Poulin sent in the ball Percy ran almost 
half-way down to third; nor, despite the throwing 
to base of both catcher and pitcher, could he be 
caught napping. 

On the seventh ball pitched, Percy ran down as 
usual to the shortstop’s position, keeping his eye 
fixed steadily on the ball. He saw that it was over 
the base and judged that George would strike at 
it. So instead of stopping midway he threw back 
his head, and looking straight before him, made for 
third. He heard the sharp crack of contact between 
bat and ball, and still running at full speed, turned 
to see it bound into the hands of the shortstop, who 
made a feint at throwing it to third, but seeing 
that Percy was already within a yard of the base, 
wheeled about and, with deliberate and careful aim, 
threw it swiftly to first. 

The umpire’s “ Batter out” was drowned by the 
voice of Drew. 

“Home! home!” he shouted, in an excess of ex- 
citement. 

“Home! home!” roared out nearly the whole in- 
field and outfield. 

For Percy, with a boldness not looked for by any 
one, had not stopped at third. Turning sharply — a 
turn, by the way, that no other boy in the college 
but Keenan could make — toward home, so as to 
lose scarcely a foot, he was more than half-way in 
before the first baseman fairly realized what had 
happened. 

Bennett saw that the game was in his hands, and 
with full swing of the ^rn^ he sent it straight ^nd 


96 


HARRY DEE. 


low toward the catcher, who, with his mask and cap 
thrown off, was standing upon the home plate, his 
eyes straining and his hands stretched imploringly 
toward the first baseman. But even as the ball left 
Bennett’s hand Percy, now about twenty-five feet 
from the home plate, sprang forward and took the 
most heroic of all his heroic headers. 

Ball and Percy! which first? The ball certainly 
was in the catcher’s hand while Percy was still shoot- 
ing along the ground, but before Earle could turn and 
touch him Percy, with an effort quick and violent, 
had stretched out his right hand and touched the 
home plate. The game was ours. 

Tom was beside Percy at once and raised him 
gently yet quickly from the earth. Our brave base- 
stealer was ghastly pale and staggered even as Tom 
bore him up. 

“I — I — think I’ll sit down, Tom.” 

Tom hurried him over to a seat, then Tan for Mr. 
Middleton. 

“Please, sir, Percy’s hurt a little. The boys will 
all want to shake hands with him, and he’ll faint or 
something, and I know he hates to pose.” 

The prefect clapped his hands, and standing in 
front of Percy so as to keep the boys from seeing 
him, waited till all had passed into the blue grass 
save Frank Burdock, Tom, and myself. 

“How do you feel, Percy?” asked Tom sympa- 
thetically. 

“It’s nothing — just a little scratch, I think,” an- 
swered Percy. 

He had become very languid. His hair was tossed 
upon his forehead, and as he leaned with his head 
resting against the hack pf the players’ bench and 


HA/^RY DEE, 97 

his lips quivering, we all perceived that he was 
suffering keenly. 

“Look!” said Tom; “ he’s bleeding. ” 

The blood we saw was just beginning to enpurple 
his knickerbockers a little above the knee. 

At the sight of the blood Frank was terrified be- 
yond measure. 

“Oh,” he blubbered, “that’s all on account of my 
swearing. Won’t you forgive me, Percy?” 

The sufferer smiled, and with the smile something 
of his color returned. 

“ I’m not going to die, Frank. In fact, I feel all 
right again; you see, I cut myself when I ran ^i2,ainst 
Drew’s spiked shoes at second. I didn’t intend to 
slide again, but when I saw that chance to take a 
run, I thought I’d do it even if I had to be carried 
home. But that last slide did hurt.” 

“ It was great,” said Tom enthusiastically. “ I’ve 
read about it, but it’s the first time I’ve seen a boy 
make from second to home on an out at first.” 

“ Now,” said Percy, rising, “ I think we can start 
for home. ” 

“You can lean on my arm,” said Tom. 

“ No, you don’t, ’’exclaimed Frank, with a touch of 
his former passion. “I’ll attend to Percy myself.” 

Tom, of course, submitted. 

“ Now, Harry,’' said Tom, turning to me with his 
most taking air, “ how about spending a night in 
your uncle’s house this summer? Will you do it?” 

“ Yes,” I answered at once. 

7 


98 


HARRY DEE. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


IN WHICH FRANK BURDOCK CATCHES A BIG FISH AND 
MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF THE HAUGHTY OWNER 
OF A YACHT. 



MONG the happy days at St. Maure’s that still 


ii remain “ beautiful pictures on memory’s wall,” 
I count the ensuing months of May and June the 
happiest. May, the month of Mary; June, the 
month of the Sacred Heart. The glory of heaven 
seemed to us students to blend with the earthly 
splendors of spring; and though, boylike, we all 
lool-^d iui ward eagerly to the days of vacation, still, 
by the sweet practices associated with May and June 
our natural eagerness was, as it were, spiritualized. 

And so when vacation came we were prepared 
for it; prepared to enjoy it, because we had done 
our duty in the matter of studies; prepared to enjoy 
it rightly, because we had entered fully into the 
beautiful St. Maure’s traditions with regard to 
these latter months. 

My father, who came on to attend the annual col- 
lege commencement, could scarcely believe his eyes 
on seeing me. 

He had counted on finding me healthier and 
stronger, but, as he said, “ I was not prepared, Harry, 
to find you an athlete.” 

Tom, Frank Burdock, and Percy made it a point 
to win their way into my father’s favor. They were, 
at my instance, engaged in a conspiracy; and I am 
glad to say that they succeeded. These three in- 
triguers won over my father at a single sitting; in 
such wise that when they asked the burning ques- 
tion he said: 


HARRY DEE. 


99 


“ Harry couldn’t be in better company: of course 
he may go!” 

Then we exchanged such hand-shakings, such 
glances of joy; and though we took our leave of 
dear old St. Maure’s with sadness, yet the prospects 
before us and their discussion soon made us the 
happiest of lads on the eastward-bound train. 

It is mid-summer. From the western rim of the 
heavens, where lies enisled an archipelago of glori- 
fied clouds, the sun is giving his parting benedic- 
tion to the upper world. In the zenith are here and 
there gauzy bits of fleece, reflecting faintly, yet so 
beautifully, something of that blaze of glory which 
the sun has conferred upon their western sisters, 
and moving onward like stately, dainty ships of the 
air over an infinite sea of blue. Lightly they hover 
over the tranquil, well-nigh slumbering waters of a 
romantic lake upon whose quivering bosom the 
changing colors of the heavens reproduce themselves 
in mirrored splendor. 

But the scene is not without its human element. 
At anchor within a hundred feet of a steep, grassy 
bank four lads are seated in a fishing-boat. Each 
is holding a rod in his hands, but their hearts seem 
to be otherwhere. The vision of the glory above 
has caught their eyes, and as they silently follow 
its changing splendors, they forget the object of 
their expedition and allow their lines to lie neg- 
lected in the water. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” murmured Tom. 

“Yes,” answered Percy softly, “the beautiful day 
is most beautiful in its death.” 

“I hope we’ll be that way, too,” resumed Tom. 


TOO 


HARRY DEE. 


“ There’s a quotation from Shakespeare that would 
fit in here, but somehow I can’t work it in; I’m no 
good at quotations.” 

” Something to the effect that nothing should so 
become us in our life as our leaving it?” suggested 
Percy. 

“You have spoken,” answered Tom. 

“If Paradise were any prettier than this scene,” I 
observed after a pause, “ what a wonderful place it 
must have been!” 

“I wish Eve had minded her business,” put in 
Frank Burdock tartly. “ She ought to have kept her 
husband steady instead of putting crazy notions into 
his head. If I marry at all,” continued this wise- 
acre, “ I’ll find a girl who will keep me from getting 
cranky.” 

The twilight meanwhile had come upon us, and 
the clouds in the west were softening in color; a 
classic beauty succeeded the oriental splendor which 
had melted away with the sunset. A golden sheen 
now palpitated over the face of the waters, while a 
light breeze springing up carried its perfumed mes- 
sage of nightfall from shore to shore. 

“I wish I were Joshua,” said Frank. 

“Yes? What would you do?” inquired Percy. 

“I’d make the sun stand still. I ain’t no poet 
like you, Percy, but I guess I know when I like a 
thing — and I like this.” 

Further observations were cut short by the sudden 
click of Frank’s reel as his line spun out into the 
water. He put his hand to the reel, gave his line 
a jerk, and — 

“ I’ve got him!” he cried. “ Just get the landing- 
net ready.” 


HARRY DEE. 


ioi 


“Play him carefully; don’t get excited,” said 
Tom. 

“Who’s excited?” asked Frank disdainfully. 
“I’m not afraid of the biggest pike in the biggest 
lake in Wisconsin — ow!” 

This exclamation was provoked by the apparition 
of a very large fish, which sprang furiously out of 
the water in a vigorous struggle to rid itself of 
Frank’s hook. 

So startled was our little friend that the reel es- 
caped from his nerveless clasp, and away went his 
line, paying out at a rate which indicated that his 
fish was in a hurry. 

“You’ve a curious way of showing your bravery,” 
said Tom, as Frank recovered his control of the 
reel. “ Here, you’d better let me play your fish for 
you.” 

“You just sit right where you are,” snapped 
Frank. “When I want your help I’ll ask you.” 

Anxious to redeem himself, Frank now gave evi- 
dence of coolness and skill. In and out he played 
his fish until he had brought it, thoroughly exhausted, 
to the side of the boat, where it was easily landed 
by Percy. 

“A wall-eyed pike and a beauty!” exclaimed 
Tom. 

“ It’s at least six pounds,” added Percy. 

“You don’t say!” piped Frank. “Oh, won’t I 
write a letter to papa to-night. It beats any catch 
he ever made — and I’ll tell him so, too.” 

Having killed our fish at once — a merciful act, 
by the way — we applied ourselves in earnest to our 
sport. Fresh minnows were supplied, skilful casts 
made, and each of us set about reeling in our lines 


102 


HARRY DEE. 


and throwing them again, according to the current 
style of fishing which obtained among the approved 
anglers of the region. Suddenly our attention was 
distracted by a novel sight, a new element added to 
the serene loveliness of early twilight. Around an 
arm of land to the east of us there swept, in all the 
poetry of bird-like motion, a milky-sailed yacht, 
gorgeous in flags and fresh bright colors, upon whose 
deck stood a boy and a girl. The girl was at the 
tiller — a pretty little child of seven or eight, every 
detail of her dress betokening the taste and care of 
a refined home; her unbound golden hair falling free 
upon her white dress, and reaching almost to her 
sash of blue, tossed alternately by her quick move- 
ment and the gentle breeze. Beside her was a boy 
of fourteen or fifteen. One glance at him would 
satisfy an observer that in gazing upon the boy he 
was gazing upon the owner of the yacht, and a proud 
owner he was! His pretty face — somewhat femi- 
nine; so feminine, in fact, that it could not with 
propriety be styled handsome — was marred by a dis- 
dainful curve in the lines of his mouth and play of 
his lips, while his head thrown haughtily back added 
to his appearance of superciliousness. 

The little miss smiled at us in all the sweet in- 
genuousness of childhood. With that mobility of 
feature which is one of the pretty graces of innocent 
years, she conveyed in unspoken words the message 
of her own happiness in the possession of the grace- 
ful yacht and radiated her joy upon us. Not so the 
real owner of the Aurora. His brows took an ad- 
ditional turn upward as he surveyed us from the 
dizzy heights of his ownership. 

“You’d think that fellow had a lien on the lake,” 


HARRY DEE, 


103 


whispered Tom. “But hold! his haughty majesty 
is about to address us.” 

“Any luck, boys?” inquired his “haughty maj- 
esty.” 

“ Look !” exclaimed Frank vivaciously, holding up 
his fish. 

“ Ah !” exclaimed his “ haughty majesty, ” passing 
his hand through his hair with an aesthetic flourish, 
whereupon Tom ducked under the seats to conceal 
his laughter. 

“Ah! what a be-you-ti-ful fish!” cried the girl. 
“ Did you catch it, sir?” 

“Yes, ma’am, all myself,” answered Frank, much 
flattered by the “ sir, ” and putting into the “ ma’am ” 
an intonation which sent Percy’s head down on a 
level with Tom’s. 

“I — ah — I’ll buy your fish if you have no objec- 
tion,” continued his “haughty majesty.” 

Percy was now under the seats. Frank was about 
to return an indignant answer, when Tom came to 
the rescue. 

“ Me lud,” he said, with much impressiveness and 
doffing his cap as he spoke, “your ludship’s humble 
servants have not put up their stall for selling fish 
yet, but, me lud, when we have, me lud, we will be 
most gratified to secure your ludship’s distinguished 
custom.” 

From the bottom of the boat came a silvery laugh 
which there was no resisting; I broke into a roar, 
and even serious Frank chuckled audibly. 

As for the little girl, she joined in our merriment 
betough sheer sympathy, whereupon his “ludship,” 
who had changed color, turned his wrath upon 
her. 


104 


n-AJ^RY DEE. 


“Rose, if you don’t behave yourself you’ll never 
come out in my boat again.’’ 

Rose blanched at the very thought. “Melud,” 
having thus disposed of her, cast a cold eye upon us. 

“You’re vulgar,” he observed. 

“Yes, me lud,” answered Tom, respectfully but 
cheerfully; “for mark you, me lud, we have not had 
the pleasure, me lud ” — here Tom gave a bow which 
would have won the approval of Chesterfield — “ of 
your very improving company.” 

“I’m no lord.” 

“Oh, I beg pardon, most noble dook,” continued 
Tom gravely. “We really ” 

“Now, you stop!” cried the “duke” plaintively. 

“Tom, Tom,” giggled Percy, “do give his grace 
an opportunity to say a word or two.” 

His grace was not slow to speak. 

“ I’m neither a lord nor a duke,” he said gravely, 
as though he expected to excite surprise by the an- 
nouncement. “ Are you boys staying around here ?” 

“Your majesty, we are. Yonder ’neath the shade 
of a wide-spreading beech tree — it isn’t a beech tree, 
but that is no matter,” Tom added in parentheses — 
“ stands a little cabin, wherein, your majesty, we 
have, so to speak, pitched our tents. Furthermore, 
your majesty, be it known to you that our board is 
paid by our parents with regularity, for though not 
poor they are honest.” 

The yacht-owner was in two minds about us. It 
would have pleased him to swear at us, but he 
feared to compromise himself. The fact of the mat- 
ter was that he doubted whether Tom was serious 
in fun. So he adopted a middle course by scowling. 

“Are you fellows Catholics?” 


HARRY DEE. 


105 

And it please your majesty, we are.” 

“I don’t like Catholics.” 

“ Most of us can’t help it, your royal highness; we 
were born that way. But it isn’t catching.” 

The yacht was now almost beyond speaking dis- 
tance, and as Tom uttered his last remark the 
haughty owner, yielding to his rage, stamped his 
foot, shook his fist at us, and spat into the water. 

As if to make amends for her brother’s conduct. 
Rose waved her handkerchief and sent a silvery 
“good-evening, sirs,” across the dividing water; 
and as the boat went beyond the limit of distinct 
vision we saw, or rather inferred, that his lordship 
was scolding her bitterly, for the little lady bent 
her head and covered her face with her hands. 

“Boys,” said Tom, “I’m sorry I chaffed that fel- 
low, not on his account, but on account of that lit- 
tle girl. The fact that he was her brother should 
have made me behave myself. Do you know, I’ve 
often wished of late that God had given me a sister. 
I’m sure I’d be a better fellow. She would have 
toned down a good deal of my roughness.” 

Percy laughed. 

“If there’s any roughness about you, Tom, I 
wouldn’t have it removed for the world. But I 
think what you say is reasonable and natural. A 
good sister is a treasure to a boy — I ought to know, 
for I’ve just the best lot of sisters in the world. I 
don’t know what I’d have been were it not for them.” 

“I have heard it said,” I remarked, “that there 
is no earthly love so pure and elevating as the love 
between brother and^sister. ” 

“I believe it’s quite true,” said Tom. “It’s a 
great pity — isn’t it? — that many big brothers make 


io6 


HARRY DEE. 


it a point to tease their sisters, to be cross and ugly 
toward them. Lots of ’em are good boys, too; 
but what is good in them is kept for outsiders, and 
their poor sisters get the benefit of what’s worst in 
them. There, now, take his Tudship, ’ for instance: 
he doesn’t seem to care two cents for the happiness 
of his little sister as long as there’s the least ques- 
tion of his own dignity. It’s a pity!” 

“ By the way,” said Percy, “that puts me in mind 
of a strange remark Mr. Middleton made to me one 
day. He was speaking of a boy who had been at 
St. Maure’s the year before you came, Tom. The 
boy, it seems, was but a little over eleven years old, 
extremely polite, amiable, and obliging. He gained 
favor with all and soon rose high in the esteem of 
the entire faculty. Yet before the spring had come 
he was dismissed from the college as a student too 
dangerous to be allowed to associate with the small 
boys. Now, here’s the remark of Mr. Middleton’s 
that surprised me. ‘For weeks and weeks,’ he 
said, ‘I could discover nothing out of the way in 
this boy. But one day, in speaking with me, he 
said that he was the only child, that he had no 
* brother or sister, and that he hoped he never would. 
From that day I felt that there was a serious flaw in 
his character. ’ ” 

“Why did he feel that?” asked Frank. 

“I suppose,” answered Percy, “because it showed 
a cold, unloving disposition.” 

“ One of that kind,” observed Tom, “ could become 
cruel and wicked. I’ve heard it said that all the 
great saints were very warm-hearted. ” 

Our philosophical discussion was brought to an 
end by an injudicious fish which made a bold at- 


HARRY DEE. 


107 


tempt to run away with Percy’s fishing outfit. Percy 
was an expert, and with little trouble succeeded in 
landing a lusty four-pound black bass. Before he 
had it fairly in the boat Tom was playing another, 
and before Tom could announce the fact Frank was 
reeling in vigorously. 

As for myself, I was kept busy with the landing-net. 

Tom’s fish proved to be a three-pound pickerel, 
Frank’s a two-pound black bass. 

“ Hurrah !” cried Frank; “we’ve about twenty 
pounds of fish. I guess we can start for home. It 
will be dark in half an hour — I’ll row.’’ 

“ No, no, Frank,’’ said Tom, pulling up the anchor. 
“Why, just look at the sky; I shouldn’t be surprised 
if we had to face a storm. Sometimes there are 
ugly squalls on this lake.’’ 

“That’s an awful cloud in the west, ’’cried Percy; 
“ it’s growing larger and blacker. Yes, we’d better 
hurry or we’ll get a drenching.’’ 

There were two sets of oars in the boat. The seat 
in the middle was sufficiently wide to allow two 
rowers to sit together: on this seat were Tom and I, 
each using one oar. Percy was behind us wielding 
the other pair, while Frank, with the tiller-ropes in 
his hand, sat in the stern. We had not taken a 
dozen strokes when a low, dull, distant sound came 
upon our ears. 

“ It’s coming, boys. The wind is storming among 
the trees on the western bank,’’ I cried. 

“Listen to it,’’ whispered Frank in tones of awe. 
Momentarily the sound grew in volume; gradually, 
above the deep groaning and fluttering, arose a shrill 
shrieking like the exaggerated sounds of a million 
fifes. Onward swept the wind in its tyrannous 


io8 


HARRY DEE. 


Strength till the waters on the further shore crisped, 
then reared their myriad white crests and broke into 
angry waves. Before these water monsters had 
made their appearance our vigorous united strokes 
had brought us almost midway between the eastern 
and western shores of the lake. 

“It’s no use, boys,” cried Tom. “We may pos- 
sibly make it, but our safest plan will be to turn 
back. What’s the matter, Frank ?” 

For Frank, who was facing us, had become deadly 
pale and jumped to his feet. 

“Look! look!” he gasped. “The yacht!” 


CHAPTER XV. 

IN WHICH THIS STORY IS WITHIN A TITTLE OF LOSING 
ITS CHIEF CHARACTERS AND THUS COMING TO AN 
ABRUPT END. 

T he three of us turned our heads and saw a 
sight which chilled our blood. The Aurora., 
which, after skirting the eastern and southern shore, 
had taken its course northward along the western 
bank, was now with full sails set bearing the brunt 
of raging water and roaring wind. Yielding to the 
blast, she had bowed down, down, till her sails 
seemed to be lapped by the rising waters. Clinging 
to a mast with one hand, the boy was vainly 
endeavoring with the other to take in sail, while 
the girl, her hair streaming in the wind, was 
stretching toward us one little hand in pitiful 
entreaty. We scarce had time to take in this awful 
picture when a fresh veil of darkness seemed to drop 
down from sky to earth, and the storm burst upon 
us with full fury. 


HARRY DEE. 


109 

“To your oars!” shouted Tom. “We’ve got to 
save them; pull, boys, with all 3^ur might!” 

Very fortunately for us, none of us was a novice in 
the art of managing a boat. Every day during the 
past few weeks we had practised at pulling together. 
And so, compressing our lips, we held an even stroke 
against wind and wave. 

“ Keep her toward the yacht, Frank,” continued 
Tom; “don’t let her turn one inch either way.” 

“All right, Tom. I’m not afraid; you can rely 
on me,” answered our steersman, his eyes fixed upon 
the Aurora. “Pull, boys, pull hard. Oh, they’re 
going to capsize!” 

“ Don’t turn round,” whispered Tom to Percy and 
myself. “We must depend on Frank for our course. 
Pull steadily.” 

“God help them!” cried Frank, despite his excite- 
ment keeping a firm hold on the tiller-ropes; “their 
boat is capsized!” 

As Frank spoke there arose above the howling of 
the blast and the beating of the waters a piercing, 
heart-rending scream. That scream seemed to stop 
my heart-beats, and I noticed that Tom and Percy 
were beaded with sweat — the sweat of agony. 
Frank was sobbing. 

“For God’s sake, Frank,” cried Tom hoarsely, 
“are the boy and girl in sight?” 

“The girl has gone under; and there the boy 
goes. Oh, hurry, hurry!” And Frank was on the 
point of jumping up. 

“ Don’t move,” cried Tom. “If you do there’s 
no chance of saving them. Quick ! are they under 
water yet ?” 

“The girl is up again — poor ^irl! Ah! she’^ 


I lO 


HARRY DEE. 


caught hold of the yacht and is hanging on to it. 
There’s the boy notv. Good! he is clinging to it, 
too.” 

The three of us breathed a sigh of relief. 

“If you hurry up,” cried Frank, “we’ll be able 
to save them; the yacht is drifting this way.” 

But pull as we might, it was slow work. 

Still more disheartening was the gathering gloom. 
Shadows seemed to be literally rushing down upon us. 
Our every stroke was tallied by a deeper tinge of 
black, as though some genie of the air was scatter- 
ing huge handfuls of darkness on our course. 

“ Don’t be afraid,” called Frank to us. “ I can see 
the boat quite plainly. I’ve good eyes, and I’ll 
keep that boat in sight till we get to it.” 

As he spoke there was a dazzling flash of lightning 
that broke zig-zag across the heavens, followed by a 
loud clap of thunder. 

“ Don’t forget to pray,” exclaimed Tom. 

Then followed a series of blinding flashes and 
rumbling detonations, which, added to the fury of 
the wind and the lashing of the waves, impressed 
us, I am sure, with a sense of God’s might and our 
own powerlessness. In the midst of it all we bent 
sturdily to our oars in silence, each of us praying 
for help and guidance from above. 

Desperate as was the plight of brother and sister, 
our condition was not without its dangers. Thus 
far, it is true, we had shipped but little water; but 
we knew not at what moment the hungry white-caps 
would hurl themselves raging into our boat. We 
plainly saw, moreover, that should we succeed in 
reaching the yacht any attempt at rescue would be 
fraught with peril. In consideration of all this, 


HARRY DEE. 


Ill 


the four of us, I think, had a great deal to say to 
Almighty God. None, indeed, was overmastered 
by fright. What boy not an absolute coward could 
yield to fear under so cool and plucky a leader as 
Tom Playfair? Presence of mind never deserted 
him, and such was his influence over all that in 
critical moments he infallibly became leader by 
common consent. 

An exclamation from Frank roused us from our 
commune with God. 

“Listen!” he exclaimed. 

Again the clear, piercing cry of the little child 
shivered through the air. 

“ The little girl is giving out, I think,” said Frank, 
in answer to our questioning glances. “Her hold 
has slipped — ah! she’s got it again. Keep on row- 
ing; we’ll be beside them in a minute.” 

As Frank ceased speaking there came a lull in the 
storm. In the western sky appeared an opening in 
the clouds, through which streamed something of the 
twilight beauty, and the veil of darkness, routed by 
the western light, lifted as suddenly as it had 
fallen. The thunder grew fainter and fainter, the 
breeze died almost completely away, and nothing 
but the lashing waves gave evidence of the fierce 
elemental conflict so lately raging about us. 

During this lull we heard what, should we live 
into the centuries, none of us shall ever forget. 
That sweet, clear, delicate voice came throbbing 
over the waters in trembling melody: 

“Jesus, Saviour of my soul, 

Let me to Thy bosom fly. 

While the angry waters roll 
And the tempest still is nigh.” 


II2 


HARRY DEE. 


And there the tiny voice, which had paused be- 
tween some of the notes as though the child had lost 
her breath, quivered into silence. 

Another voice was heard: 

“Help! help! save us!" 

It was the boy’s. 

As if in rude answer to his call the wind, which 
had changed a point northward, came howling 
through the trees and across the waters; and then 
our hearts were thrilled with pity as we heard the 
child cry: “Jesus, dear Jesus, save us; save us, dear 
Jesus." 

“Pull, boys!" screamed Frank. “The girl has 
given out; she’s lost her hold and is sinking. 
You’re very near. A few strokes more." 

“ Percy," cried Tom, “ it all depends on you now. 
You’ve got to go it alone. Haul in your oar, 
Harry," and Tom almost tore his shoes from his 
feet. 

“There," cried Frank, “she’s come to the top." 

Tom had arisen and caught sight of the child, 
some forty feet from our boat, just as her face dis- 
appeared. 

“Keep the boat steady." And as Tom spoke he 
plunged into the waters. He emerged in a few 
seconds, quite near the spot where the child had 
gone down. 

“ Behind you ! behind you, Tom !" rang out Percy’s 
voice as the girl again came to the surface. 

Tom turned at once, and in the nick of time; the 
child was just sinking. He made for her with 
rapid stroke, failed of reaching her, and followed 
her down into the waters. 

In a moment he arose with the child supported on 


HARRY DEE. 


113 

his left arm, and, by Divine Providence, within a 
few feet of our boat. 

“Bring the stern round to Tom,” cried Percy. 
Obedient to the tiller the boat turned broadside to 
the wind, shipping in the movement the crest of a 
large wave. Not without difficulty Tom caught hold 
of the back support above the rudder blade, and 
assisted by Frank lifted the half-drowned child into 
the boat. 

We were now quite near the yacht. The boy, his 
cheeks blanched with terror, his eyes protruding 
from their sockets, was shouting to us inarticulately. 
Before Tom could succeed in climbing into our 
boat, the storm suddenly came down upon us with 
new force. The wind was blinding and sent the 
waves lashing against our frail boat. Panic-stricken, 
the boy, throwing out his arms toward us, plunged 
into the water and at once disappeared. 

I foresaw what would probably happen and imme- 
diately threw olf my coat and shoes. I was a poor 
swimmer; but as Percy was needed at the oars and 
Frank at the' tiller, I saw that if worst came to 
worst it would be my duty to venture after my 
friend. No sooner had the strange boy thus madly 
tempted his own destruction than Tom, releasing 
his hold on the boat, made for the spot where he 
had gone under. 

What ensued when the stranger came to the sur- 
face is horrible to relate. Tom reached out, caught 
him by the arm, and was about to assist him to our 
boat, when with a wild cry the drowning boy threw 
his arms about his would-be rescuer in a death-clasp. 
Tom struggled vainly to free himself; both went 
down together. 

8 


HARRY DEE. 


114 

How long they were under water it is impossible 
for me to estimate. Upon their disappearing I 
whispered Percy not to leave the oars till I had 
made an effort to assist Tom; and disposing myself 
to spring to their rescue, watched eagerly for their 
coming to the surface. 

Oh, what a weary, long, long time it was while 
we prayed for their reappearance! At length, still 
clasped in the other’s arms, Tom came to view. Even 
in the moment, and as I plunged into the water, my 
eyes took in a sight which stands out as vividly be- 
fore my imagination now as it presented itself to 
me in the awful gloom of that storm-beaten twi- 
light. 

The boy, in first grasping Tom, had clasped him 
from behind. The violence of that clasp was re- 
vealed now. Tom’s face was deathly pale. He 
had managed to twist about somewhat in the grasp 
of the drowning boy so as to face him partially, and 
as he rose I perceived that he had freed his right 
hand. But oh, the countenance of the stranger! All 
the hideousness of terror had invested it; all the 
mad rage of despair. There was nothing human in 
the expression. It was a hideous nightmare of 
God’s image. 

All this I noticed in one glance as I threw myself 
from the boat. What happened while I was under 
water was afterward supplied me by Percy. 

As they came to the surface, Percy said, Tom, who 
had freed one hand, made an effort to free the 
other. With a wild, animal-like, muffled voice, the 
drowning lad caught at the free arm, and would have 
held it had not Tom jerked it from his grasp and 
without delay struck him thrice with all his force 


HARRY DEE. 115 

about the temple. With the third stroke both again 
disappeared. 

When I came up there was no sight of either. 

“Wait!” called Percy. “Watch!” 

Just then Tom emerged, paler than before, bear- 
ing in his arms a senseless form. 

“Quick! catch hold!” he gasped. 

I took the body from the panting hero, and strik- 
ing out for our boat, which Percy had contrived to 
bring within a few feet of us, reached the stern in 
safety. Violent as the storm had grown during the 
last few minutes, it was just then, I think, that it 
reached its height; just then, when the grave ques- 
tion of studying how to get three persons into a 
frail boat presented itself. Tom, swimming at my 
side — how feeble his stroke! — seemed to be equally 
perplexed with me for some solution. 

“ If the boat founders,” he labored forth gaspingly 
in my ear, “all of you make for the yacht.” 

Then, with a painful effort, he said aloud: “Percy 
and Frank, pull off your shoes.” 

In a twinkling Frank was in his stocking-feet, 
but before Percy could lay aside his oars a huge 
wave swept into the boat, which at once began to 
sink. 

“I’ll take care of the little girl,” cried Percy. 
“ Look out for yourself, Frank. To the yacht, every 
one!” 

Fortunately we had kept near the ill-fated sail- 
boat; fortunately for Tom, who was spent with his 
efforts in the double rescue; fortunately for Percy, 
who, incumbered with his shoes, had the child in 
charge; fortunately, in particular, for myself, who 
had the greatest difficulty, being a poor swimmer, in 


HARRY DEE. 


iid 

sustaining the senseless form of the brother. In- 
deed, it would have gone hard with me had not Frank 
bravely come to my assistance. The two of us 
made but little progress, and we were fain to be con- 
tent with holding the boy’s face above water till the 
yacht drifted upon us. In a trice we had fastened 
him securely to the boat. 

“Well!” said Percy, when we were all clinging 
beside each other, “thank God we’re safe; and if 
we can only hold out the wind will bring us to 
shore within an hour.” 

I had now an opportunity of observing Tom, and 
my heart sank at the sight. His polo shirt was in 
shreds, little else but the sleeves remaining upon 
him. His undershirt was torn just below the arm- 
pits, and there, standing out on each side upon his 
naked flesh, was the bleeding print of five finger- 
nails. The poor boy’s face was ghastly, his mouth 
was open, and he was panting from the terrible 
ordeal. Next him was little Frank, who of all the 
party was the least spent. Beside Frank lay the 
strange boy tied to the lower part of the mast. 
Lastly, between myself and Frank, was Percy, still 
holding the little girl. 

“Give me the girl, Percy,” said Frank, “while 
you take off your shoes.” 

The transfer was made; and Percy was soon pre- 
pared for more ventures in the water if need should 
arise. 

I had been watching Tom’s face for some moments. 
How wan it was growing ! Presently his eyes closed. 

“Percy! Percy!” I cried, “look to Tom!” 

With a single stroke Percy was beside him, and 
just as he was slipping away caught him by the arm. 


HAI^RY DEE. 


117 

“Poor boy! He’s fainted !” said Percy. “Oh!” 
he continued in dismay, on seeing the cruel finger- 
prints on Tom’s bosom, “ what sufferings he must 
have borne in saving that senseless boy!'* 

I think this was the first time that I ever heard 
Percy speak harshly of any one. 

Tom very shortly opened his eyes and found him- 
self pillowed on Percy’s hand, with those kindly blue 
eyes bent down in grief upon his pallid face. He 
smiled feebly. 

“ Never say die,” he whispered. “ Where are we ?” 

“ Drifting right in to shore, Tom; patience — don’t 
move; I can hold you without the’ least trouble.” 

“Well,” whispered Tom feebly, “if anything hap- 
pens you look out for yourselves; don’t mind me. 
I’m not afraid to die. And be sure to save that 
little girl, whatever happens. What was that prayer 
of hers? Oh, yes — ‘Jesus, dear Jesus; save us, dear 
Jesus.’ Wasn’t it beautiful? I guess that God 
intended us to be His instruments in hearing that 
prayer. Oh! I’m awful tired!” 

The slow, labored tones in which Tom spoke 
brought tears to my eyes. Tired! 

“Yes,” he went on, “it was the hardest, bitterest 
thing of my life, but I had to do it. I’d as soon 
have drowned — sooner, in fact — but then both of us 
would have drowned. O Percy! it seemed so cruel, 
yet I had to do it.” 

“ What, Tom ?” 

“ Did you see his frightened face, his eyes starting 
with terror? Oh! what a look of agony came over 
his face when I got loose from him. Yet I had to 
do it; I had to draw my arm back and beat, beat, 
beat that face, which was piteous enough to move a 


ii8 


HARRY DEE. 


heart of stone, till the poor boy was senseless. Oh! 
it was terrible!” 

Tom closed his eyes and shuddered. 

Tom spoke again; but I shall not record his 
words as they were uttered. He was no longer mas-| 
ter of himself, and in those moments of delirium he 
laid bare unconsciously some of the beautiful secrets 
that were between himself and his Maker. His mind 
was wandering — but into what beautiful fields! We 
had loved Tom for his gay, happy ways, his abid- 
ing cheerfulness, his noble qualities; but now, as we 
listened to him taken thus off his guard, we discov- 
ered that the life within was as saintly as the life 
without was noble. 

Again and again he spoke of his struggle in the 
water. 

How reverently we listened to these confessions 
of a noble soul ! It brought vividly to our minds the 
frightful mental struggle that had gone hand in 
hand with that physical struggle for life. It un- 
veiled to us in sharp outline Tom’s indomitable 
will-power, his ability to grasp a situation and to 
employ the boldest means on the instant. 

“ What was that song she sang, Percy ?” he in- 
quired, opening his eyes a few moments later. 

“ ‘ Jesus, Saviour of my soul, 

Let me to Thy bosom fly.’ ” 

“That’s what I say, ’’said Tom wearily. “Oh, if 
I could go there now; I’m so tired.” 

What infinite pathos in his simple words, “I’m 
so tired.” 

“Keep up your courage, dear Tom,” said Percy. 
“We’re drifting on splendidly. The lake is getting 
calmer, and I think there’s little danger.” 


HARRY DEE. 


I19 

“ Percy, if anything happens, you’ll pray for me, 
and you too, Frank, and you too, Harry?” 

“OTom,” sobbed Percy, “don’t! I’ll hold you 
till we drown together, if necessary.” 

“ No, you won’t,” returned Tom, something of his 
old energy and strong voice returning ; “ there’s work 
for you. Now, remember, you’re not to drown on 
my account. And, Percy, give my love to all the 
fellows, and if I’ve treated any of ’em wrong, say 
that I’ve asked their forgiveness. Pray for me.” 

And Tom fainted again. 

Now followed a period of sadness akin to despair. 
The boy whom each of us had, I think, loved with 
a love deeper, stronger, tenderer than a brother’s 
love, seemed to be dying in our sight; dying ex- 
posed, unprotected; dying surrounded by friends 
who could not stretch forth a hand to help him, yet 
dying as he had lived. How changed he was from 
the gay, happy, sunny lad he had been but a short 
time before. His dark eyes were curtained, we 
feared, forever. His hair had fallen over his face 
— jet-black hair that fitted so well over the nut- 
brown face of old, that looked so startling upon the 
ghastly pallor which had now usurped the hue of 
health. 

Little Frank broke into a cry of grief. 

“Let me get near,” he said. “I’ll hold him, 
Percy, and you see what you can do. We won't let 
him die. We won't." 

And Frank, with a few strokes, had put himself 
beside the two. 

“Tom, Tom,” he called, and placed his hand 
upon the unresponsive face. 

Percy had succeeded in pulling off his over-shirt. 


120 


HARRY DEE. 


and tearing it into strips deftly, tenderly bandaged 
the bleeding breast. 

“Now,” he exclaimed, “perhaps that will stop 
the flow of blood.” 

“His face is as cold as ice,” said Frank. 

“Yes; but I think the color is returning,” an- 
swered Percy. 

And while the two made shift to rub Tom’s face 
we all fell into a silence that lasted until the real 
darkness of night had come down upon the scene. 
It was a half-hour of awful suspense. What a relief 
it was to us when the little girl, now under my 
care, opened her eyes. 

“Oh! where am I?” she exclaimed. 

J st as safe as though you were on shore,” I an- 
1. “Your brother is safe, too; Frank and I 
im fast to that mast there.” 

)u needn’t be afraid, ma’am,” added Frank. 

3 heard your prayer.” 

Suddenly there was a cry of joy from Percy. 

“ He’s coming to, boys! His face is quite warm. 
I can’t see well enough to be sure, but I think his 
color is returning.” 

“ Is it the brave boy that jumped into the water 
after me?” inquired the little maid. 

I was about to make answer, when Percy held up 
his finger. 

“Hallo, little girl!” 

This from Tom. His voice was stronger, more 
natural, and there was in it a flight touch of his 
merry self. 

“Hallo, sir,” replied the child. 

“How de do, little girl?” 

“ How de do, sir ?” 


HARRY DEE. 


I2I 


“What’s your name, little girl?” 

“Rose Scarborough, sir.” 

“ Much obliged, little girl — how’s your brother?” 

“Gordon? I don’t know, sir.” 

“Gordon is all right. Rose,” I interposed; “he’s 
hurt a little bit, but he’ll be able to talk and laugh 
before long.” 

“ Are you fond of bathing, little girl ?” continued 
Tom. 

“ No, sir; not very.” 

“Well, try to get used to it, anyhow, little girl. 
I say, Percy, I feel quite fresh again, though a 
while ago I thought I was going to die. I never 
felt so worn out in all my life. But now you needn’t 
support me any longer; I can take care of myself. 
Suppose you help out Gordon.” 

These words gave us fresh heart. Percy turned his 
attention to Gordon. Overhead the stars came out 
one by one and the wind softened into a light breeze. 

“Hallo!” cried Percy suddenly. “Just look at 
the lights along shore.” 

We turned our eyes to the east. The fulness of 
the night had come on, and it was impossible to 
make out anything save a number of torches which 
were moving up and down the border of the lake, 
and suggested to our imaginations men running 
along shore in anxious search, and, saddest of all, 
weeping mothers. 

“Oh, poor mamma!” exclaimed Percy. “How 
alarmed she must be.” 

“And my mamma, too,” added Rose. “She told 
Gordon not to sail without having papa or one of 
the hired men along to manage the yacht. This 
afternoon Gordon sent the hired man up to our 


122 


HARRY DEE. 


house, and just as soon as he got out of sight Gor- 
don started off. He said he knew all about sailing 
a boat. He didn’t do what he was told.” 

“Well, we can try to let them know we’re alive,” 
said Tom. “Suppose we all shout. You must join 
in the chorus, too, little girl. You’ve an excellent 
scream for your age.” 

“What shall we say?” I inquired. 

“Well, we’d better reassure them. If we shout 
for help they’ll be frightened. ‘Hip — hip — hur- 
rah’ is the right thing. They’ll think that every- 
thing is lovely, and come out in a boat to meet us 
just the same as though we were bawling for help. 
Do you hear, little girl ? You’re to shout ‘hip — hip 
— hurrah,’ just the same as though you were a little 
boy, which you aren’t, you know.” 

“I understand,” said Rose. 

“ Now, boys — ready?” continued Tom. “One, 
two, three.” 

“ Hip — hip — hurrah !” 

“Again.” 

“Hip— hip— hurrah!” 

We paused anxiously and glanced shoreward. 

“Do you think they heard us?” inquired Rose. 

“I’m afraid not, little girl, and it’s a shame, too, 
because little girls shouldn’t be out late at night.” 

“But I never did it before,” answered Rose 
seriously. 

“Well, don’t do it again.” 

“Pshaw! they weren’t listening, or they might 
have heard,” growled Frank. 

“ There’s something in what you say, Frank, ” said 
Tom. “ Now if we had a torpedo, or a pistol, or a 
cannon, or even a Gatling gun ” 


HARRY DEE. 


123 


“Oh!” cried Percy; “I’ve got it!” 

“You don’t mean to say you’re running a Gat- 
ling gun along ” 

Tom was interrupted by a piercing whistle which 
rang out startlingly upon the air. It came from the 
whistle which Mr. Middleton, on a memorable occa- 
sion, had given to Percy, and which Percy had ever 
since jealously guarded. 

“Eureka!” cried Tom. “ That fetches it. Now, 
quick — all together, little girl.” 

“ Hip — hip — hurrah!” 

We waited eagerly; the crack of a rifle came from 
the shore, followed by the fuller report of a shot- 
gun, which, ere its echoes died away, was succeeded 
by a sky-rocket shooting up into the sky and leav- 
ing a golden furrow in its track. 

“Thank God!” Percy exclaimed. 

“ That settles it, little girl, ” added Tom buoyantly. 
“Your mamma’s happy now; she heard you yelling 
out ‘hip — hip — hurrah,’ and she thinks you’re having 
a good time.” 

“But I’m not,” said Rose ingenuously. “I’m 
awful wet, and it’s dark, and everything’s wrong, 
and I wish I was home in bed.” 

“So do I, little girl; I don’t approve of late 
hours and I’m tired. ’Sh! Can’t you hear the 
stroke of oars? They’re coming.” 

Hereupon Gordon made his presence known. 

“ Ow — oh — ouch — help !” 

“Dry up!” roared Tom, “or we’ll pitch you into 
the lake; you’ll scare everybody with your bowl- 
ings. Take a lesson from your sister.” 

“ Where am I ?” he gasped in a lower tone. 


124 


HARRY DEE. 


“ This side the middle of the lake,” said Frank 
Burdock^ 

“ Keep cool, ” I whispered ; “ there’s a boat coming 
and we’ll be safe in two minutes. See the lights 
drawing near — they’re coming straight toward us.” 
And as I spoke I freed Gordon from the mast. 

“ Oh, I hope they’ll hurry up and save me,” cried 
Gordon. 

“Give ’em another cheer,” cried Tom. 

We gave it with a will. 

An answering cheer came gratefully upon our ears. 

“ Boat ahoy!” cried one of the rescuing party. 

“Ahoy!” answered Percy. 

“ Are you all safe ?” 

“We are,” returned Percy. 

“Yes, but we’re awful damp,” added Tom. 

“Are the Scarborough children there?” came an- 
other voice. 

“Yes, papa!” screamed Rose. 

“ That’s right, little girl; always tell the truth,” 
said Tom parenthetically. 

“ I do, sir.” 

Here Gordon made his presence felt. 

“Papa! papa!” he bellowed, “I’m drowning.” 

“No, he isn’t,” cried Percy, and to my astonish- 
ment he went on, addressing himself to Master Gor- 
don, “ and it’s my impression, sir, that you never 
will drown.” 

Even Percy was disgusted. 

“ Oh, if we only had an ice-chest,” groaned Tom. 

“ Why — why — what for ?’ sputtered Gordon. 

“We’d keep you cool in it.” 

A minute later we were all safe within a large 
boat, and Percy presently was in the arms of his 


HARRY DEE. 


125 


mother, and — but the hugging, and crying, and 
kissing are too much for my pen, and this chapter 
has been in all reason long enough. 


• . CHAPTER XVI. 

IN WHICH WE A TTEND A RECEPTION AND SPEND A NIGHT 
AT MR. SCARBOROUGH'S VILLA. 

M r. SCARBOROUGH was a wealthy gentleman 
of English birth, who, shortly after attaining 
his majority, ' had chosen America for his home. 
During the preceding summer he had taken a week’s 
outing at “our lake,” as we boys called it, and was 
so charmed with the beautiful surroundings that 
he purchased several acres fronting upon the eastern 
shore, and commenced at once the erection of a villa, 
which he had formally occupied on the very day we 
made the acquaintance of his illustrious son and 
heir. 

Mr. Scarborough had no words to express his 
gratitude toward our party, and his admiration cost 
us many a blush. Had we not been resolute in re- 
fusing, he would have encumbered us with an ex- 
travagance of gifts. Even as it was, he succeeded 
in forcing upon each of us a complete summer outfit. 
Vainly did he endeavor to induce Tom to accept 
the Aurora, and it was only owing to our friend’s 
eloquent expostulations that the yacht’s name was 
not changed to Tom Playfair. 

But his attentions did not end here. 

A few days after our perilous adventure we re- 
ceived a warm invitation to take supper and spend 
a night at his vUla. 


126 


HARRY DEE. 


“ I won’t go,” protested Tom; “ I don’t care about 
being lionized.” 

But for all that Tom did go, as did the rest of us. 
Imagine Tom’s consternation when he discovered 
on our arrival that the supper was a formal party. 

As we walked into the sitting-room, and found 
ourselves in the presence of a bevy of girls and boys, 
Tom caught me by the arm. 

“Pshaw!” he grumbled. “Harry, honestly, I 
wish that this was your uncle’s haunted house, and 
that everybody in this room was a ghost. I can 
stand ghosts, I believe, but a party makes me tired!” 

Nevertheless, Tom endured the ordeal of intro- 
duction with great apparent composure. Frank 
Burdock was quite at his ease, while Percy was 
clearly the most finished little gentleman in the 
room. Doubtless Tom would have been somewhat 
embarrassed had it not been for Rose. She sprang 
forward eagerly to greet him. 

“Hallo, little girl.” 

“Hallo, Mr. Playfair.” 

“Don’t, or I’ll faint, little girl.” 

“Don’t what, Mr. Playfair?” 

“Don’t Mr. Playfair me, or I’ll quit the country. 
I’m Tom, little girl.” 

I contrived to save myself from attention by keep- 
ing beside Percy. He was the bright particular 
star- of the evening, and my little light was but a 
reflection from him. He was soon surrounded by a 
listening group, who drank in eagerly his account of 
our adventure on the lake. Aside from his ease and 
fluency of speech, I could not but admire the deli- 
cacy with which he kept himself in the background, 
and the judgment he displayed in the omission of 


HARRY DEE. 


127 


such details as would have reflected on the courage 
of Gordon. 

In due course a young lady seated herself at the 
piano, and running her fingers lightly over the keys 
by way of prelude — young ladies always run their 
fingers lightly over the keys, if I may credit the 
books — composed herself for a quadrille. 

I wondered whether Tom would dance, and fixed 
my eyes on that young gentleman, who was still 
busy chaffing the little girl. 

“Mr. Playfair,” said Mr. Scarborough, advancing 
upon Tom with a smiling young miss leaning upon 
his arm. “ Permit me to introduce you to my niece. 
Miss Carruthers.” 

Tom arose and bowed. He didn’t murmur, “ Happy 
to see you,” or any such formula, for conscientious 
reasons. 

“ A dance,” continued Mr. Scarborough, “ is about 
to begin. Could you take Miss Carruthers for a 
partner, Mr. Playfair?” 

“I’m afraid,” answered Tom, “that I must de- 
cline. That storm came rather hard on me, and 
I’m still very stiff and sore. In fact, I feel like a 
cripple. However, Miss Carruthers, you’ll lose 
nothing; if I’m particularly awkward at anything, 
it’s dancing. You see, we’re rather a solemn crowd 
in our family. I have no sisters at home to help 
me in the matter of parlor amusements; and I sup- 
pose that’s the reason I have given most of my time 
to such solemn tasks as kite-flying and baseball.” 

“You don’t look so awfully solemn,” said Miss 
Carruthers, with a puzzled expression. She was not 
quite sure whether Tom was speaking seriously or 
not. 


128 


HARRY DEE, 


“ MissCarruthers,” came the grave reply, “ I labor 
to conceal my feelings.” 

There was no mistaking the twinkle in Tom’s 
eyes this time, and the young miss, breaking into a 
giggle, was led away by Mr. Scarborough in quest 
of a more eligible partner. 

Tom and myself were content to be “wall-flow- 
ers.” We were not surprised on seeing Percy taking 
his place in the quadrille, but we certainly were 
when our infantine Frank, with Rose for his part- 
ner, went through all the figures and changes with 
the ease of a society young man. 

Mr. Scarborough was a kindly old gentleman. 
Stealing up to us while the little figures were mov- 
ing lightly about in what to me were literally the 
mazes of the dance, he invited us for a stroll 
about the premises. 

“I’m half sorry,” he said pleasantly, “that I got 
up this party. You boys are real boys, and would 
have enjoyed a game of baseball, or a foot-race, 
or any athletic amusement much better.” 

“We’re all right, sir,” said Tom. “I like to see 
people enjoying themselves. And I’m too stiff for 
games at present. ” 

As we turned the corner of the house, we came 
upon Gordon, rather unexpectedly, it would seem; 
for he dropped a lighted cigarette and crushed it 
under his foot. 

“There you are — smoking again,” said the father 
sternly. 

“ Perhaps he was only holding it for another fel- 
low,” volunteered Tom, consciously or unconsciously 
borrowing his little witticism. 

“ I had to do something,” growled Gordon. “ You 


HARRY DEE. 


129 


know I can’t dance; and I can’t bear to see every- 
body enjoying things and myself out in the cold.” 

“Well, what can you do?” queried Mr. Scar- 
borough. 

“I can play billiards or cards,” said the young 
man plaintively. 

“Euchre?” asked Tom. 

“What! can you play euchre?” exclaimed Gordon, 
in no little astonishment. 

“Yes; anything wonderful in that?” 

“Why, I thought you were pious. Pious people, 
especially pious boys, don’t play cards.” 

“Nonsense!” said Tom sturdily. “God doesn’t 
insist on our giving up amusements, unless they run 
up against the commandments. Your idea of piety 
is a long face. No wonder some boys give up try- 
ing to be good.” 

“Hear! hear!” said Mr. Scarborough; “you’ve 
hit the nail on the head. Gordon has been associat- 
ing with a queer lot of boys at the military academy 
he attended last year. They consider piety to con- 
sist in avoidance of laughter, of cards, baseball, 
smoking, chewing — in fact, they mix up innocent 
amusement and decorum with right and wrong, and 
then go off and violate all the standards of piety 
they have set up. They don’t see how a boy can 
be good and happy at the same time; consequently 
they go to extremes and throw aside religion al- 
most entirely.” 

Gordon took advantage of his father’s monologue 
to give us a familiar wink, and to put his finger to 
his nose, signals which we ignored. 

“Come on, let’s play,” he broke in. 
just four of us.” 

9 


There’s 


HARRY DEE. 


130 

“All right,” said Tom. ' 

We were soon engaged at our “ impious” amuse- 
ment in an upper room. To do Gordon justice, he 
was quite skilful in handling the cards. He and 
I were partners, and succeeded in winning three 
games hand-running from Tom and Mr. Scarborough. 
The fourth game opened with Tom’s deal. When 
Tom turned up the nine of hearts, it was noticeable 
that there were but three cards under the trump. 

“ Hallo !” I said, “ some of the cards are missing. ” 

“Yes,” said Gordon, “some fellow’s cheating.” 

“ Suppose we turn our cards faces up on the 
table,” said Tom affably. 

“Just what I thought, the four Jacks are gone,” 
snarled Gordon, looking over the faces of the cards. 

“If only two had been missing,” continued Tom 
suavely, “ they might not have been noticed. The 
fact is,” said Tom, with increasing serenity, as he 
picked the knave of hearts and the knave of dia- 
monds out of his lap, “I’ve got two here, and I’ll 
trouble you, Gordon, to hand over the other two.” 

“You’re a cheat!” howled Gordon. “Keep 
away,” he suddenly added in terror — “don’t strike 
me. I take it back.” For Tom had risen; not, 
however, to strike this ingenuous young gentleman. 
Taking him firmly by the collar, Tom assisted him 
from his chair. 

“There!” said Tom sternly, pointing to the miss- 
ing knaves upon which Gordon had been sitting. 
“I’ve been waiting for five deals to spot the man 
who’s been keeping two cards out of the pack regu- 
larly. Pious boys don’t play that kind of game.” 

“ God bless me !” exclaimed Mr. Scarborough, “I 
didn’t know my son was a blackleg.” 


HARRY DEE. 


131 

Gordon was soon brought to his knees. He apol- 
ogized, and promised to play above-board. 

“ril play fair, Playfair,” he unconsciously 
punned; and it struck me for the first time that 
there was an accidental fitness in Tom’s name. I 
may add that we won few games for the ensuing two 
hours. 

After the game, there was a late supper, then — 
joyful announcement — bed. 

As quite a number of young people were to stay 
over-night, the house was somewhat crowded in re- 
gard to accommodations. Feeling tired, I was shown 
to my room some little time before the others. The 
.sleeping apartment had two double beds. One was 
alloted to Percy, Tom, and myself: the other, I was 
informed, to Gordon and two of his intimate friends 
from the military academy. There was, moreover, 
a cot for Frank. 

Some minutes after I had gone to bed, my friends 
and Gordon with the two strangers entered. 

The young gentlemen of the military academy at 
once set about exchanging confidences among them- 
selves, while Tom took off his coat and Percy knelt 
down beside the bed and began his night prayers. 

“Look,” said a yellow-faced student of the mili- 
tary academy, as he pointed to the kneeling form. 

The three of them engaged in an unmistakable 
stare of astonishment. 

“Yah! the hypocrite,” whispered the second 
stranger distinctly. “ I hate hypocrites. Maybe I 
didn’t see him dancing and laughing.” 

Tom was now staring, but they were too absorbed 
in Percy to notice this. 

The bilious young man from the military academy 


132 


HARRY DEE. 


here struck his hand upon his thigh, and catching 
up a valise drew from it a pair of very prettily em- 
broidered slippers. Selecting one, he turned to- 
ward Percy, poising the slipper in the air. 

“Don’t, Eugene, don’t,” interposed Gordon. (I 
must do this noble youth the justice of stating that 
he actually interposed.) The yellow-faced one low- 
ered his arm. 

“ Go on,” interposed the other. “ I dare you.” 

Few boys of poor principle can take a “ dare. ” He 
raised his arm and sent the slipper at Percy’s head. 

Tom caught it on the fly, walked over to the win- 
dow, and threw it out into the night. 

“That other slipper isn’t worth much without its. 
mate,” he observed. “Perhaps you’d like to throw 
that.” 

The yellow-faced individual took on a belligerent 
air, and, I judge, was about to offer to “fight” Tom, 
when a whispered word from Gordon changed his 
purpose. Gordon’s words were to this effect: “Look 
out, he can lick your whole family, you bilious 
fool.” 

So the challenge was changed into an apology. 

“I only meant it in joke.” 

“ Exactly,” answered Tom. “ I understand : your 
style of joke is to throw slippers at the heads of peo- 
ple who don’t want to be disturbed. The best joke 
I know of is to throw slippers out of the windows. 

I do it regularly.” 

The young man of the coffee-and-cream complex- 
ion attempted a smile; while his companions took 
no pains to conceal their laughter at his expense. 

When Percy rose from his knees, Tom turned to 
the military trio; 


HARRY DEE. 


133 


“Gentlemen,” he began, “I hate to give offence; 
but I fear I shall have to hurt your feelings the same 
way as my friend Percy. In the mean time, if there 
are any little jokes in the way of flying slippers, 
Percy Wynn will show what a convenience a window 
is when a fellow wants to get rid of small objects.” 

And Tom knelt down and prayed with amazing 
composure. 

The military students presently took to talking in 
a louder key. The tone of conversation, in form, at 
least, was not vulgar, but the matter was by no 
means innocent. As they went on, their converse 
became worse. 

Percy was about to make a remonstrance, when 
Tom arose. 

“ Gordon,” he said, “ I’m sorry to say that we for- 
got to bring any more cotton along.” 

“I beg your pardon,” said Gordon, who was an 
adept in the conventionalities of conversation, “but 
I don’t exa'ctly take your meaning.” 

“Well, the fact is,” continued Tom, “we’ve noth- 
ing to stuff our ears with. So if you and your very 
nice friends want to continue that kind of rot, you’ll 
please to go outside. Either do that or talk de- 
cently; otherwise, we’ll leave this house right now.” 

Gordon turned to his companions, who were for 
the nonce thoroughly ashamed. 

“ I guess he’s right, fellows. Let’s get to bed.” 

They took the hint in all meekness; although the 
bilious-complexioned young gentleman as a parting 
salute made some confused remarks about milksops, 
little girls, and so on, till Gordon invited him to 
close his mouth. 

I have reason tg thinly that Master Eugene 


134 


HARRY DEE. 


changed his opinion the following morning. Mr. 
Scarborough brought us all upon the lawn, shortly 
after breakfast, and urged us to get up a game of 
baseball. On examination, it appeared that there 
was not a sufficient number to play. 

Rose came to our relief. 

“O papa, get up races; I want to see Tom and 
Percy run.” 

“Just the thing,” said Mr. Scarborough, “who’ll 
try a race. I’ll give a fine jointed fishing-pole to 
the winner.” 

The bilious young man, who was blessed with 
long legs, stepped forth at once. 

“Who’ll run against Eugene?” asked Mr. Scar- 
borough, looking around. “I’m afraid you’re all 
too slow for him.” 

Eugene glanced disdainfully at Tom, Percy, and 
myself. 

“Go on, Tom,” whispered Percy. 

“ My legs are too short for him, and I’m too sore. 
Percy, if any of us can do it, you can. But you 
must make it a long run. Make it a question of 
holding out. I’ll fix it. Mr. Scarborough, Percy 
Wynn will run him.” 

Eugene smiled, and glanced at the slim form of 
Percy with contempt that was not even ill-concealed. 

“Hurrah for Percy!” put in Frank. “Make it a 
long race.” 

“Of course,” continued Tom, “a hundred yards 
or so would be hardly fair, as Percy is younger and 
smaller. Give him a chance to show how he can 
hold out.” 

Mr. Scarborough glanced about him. There was 
a gravelled path opening from the gate on both sides. 


I/AI^IiY DEE. 135 

and leading up to his house. It formed almost a 
complete circle. 

“ Would an eighth of a mile be enough ?” he asked. 

“Pshaw! that’s nothing,” said Eugene. 

“Very good; we will make it a quarter of a mile 
— that is, twice around this gravelled road. Now, 
you’ll both start from this hitching post here, and 
the one who touches it first on his second round is 
the winner.” 

As these and other preliminaries were being ar- 
ranged, Rose, who had stolen over to Tom, was 
begging him to take part. 

“Oh, no, little girl. Percy’s a better runner 
than I.” 

“Is he, sir? Ah, how I hope he’ll win!” 

“So do I, little girl.” 

“ I like Percy very much.” 

“ So do I, little girl.” 

“And there’s another boy I like, too, and he’s 
not far off, either.” And Miss Rose glanced very 
archly at Tom. 

Tom grinned. 

“Much obliged, little girl.” 

“You’re all so nice, and kind, and good; and 
you’re not afraid to lose your lives. Oh! how brave 
you were, when you came to save me and Gordon!” 

Tom should have blushed here and said that he 
had only done his duty. But he didn’t. 

“Little girl, when you sang ‘Jesus, Saviour of 
my soul,’ I felt perfectly happy out there on that 
ugly lake.” 

“Did you?” exclaimed Rose delightedly. “Oh, 
I meant it every word. Mamma taught me to sing 
it wheij I was liule — that is, I mean,” she added, 


136 


HARRY DEE. 


as Tom broke into a smile, “ when I was a baby. I 
didn’t like to drown: but when I thought of Him, 
it was so nice. I’m not afraid to meet Him.” As 
she gazed up into Tom’s face with all the sweet in- 
nocence of childhood shining from her lovely eyes, 
Tom felt a lump rising in his throat. 

“That’s right, little one,” he said, patting her 
golden hair, “ and I hope and pray you never will 
fear to meet Him.” 

And the child and Tom turned away, each from 
the other, with such expressions as we see on the 
faces of those who have risen from fervent prayer. 

The two runners, meantime, were standing on a 
line, while Mr. Scarborough was counting: “One — 
two — three — go !” 

“God bless me!” ejaculated Mr. Scarborough a 
moment later, “but that little fellow can run.” 

“He’s not even exerting himself,” said Tom. 
“He’s taking it easy; a little too easy, perhaps.” 
For Percy had already in the first hundred yards 
given his rival a long lead. This lead Eugene con- 
tinued to lengthen, as they both neared the gate. 

“There’s quarter of the race over, ’’said Frank 
anxiously, as Eugene passed the entrance to the 
drive, “and Percy’s away behind.” 

“ At least fifty feet, ” said Tom. “ But look ! Percy 
is putting on more speed. See! he’s gaining a little, 
I think. I’ll bet on him yet.” 

Eugene was now nearing the hitching post; he 
was breathing somewhat heavily, and the perspi- 
ration was rolling down his face. Percy, about forty- 
five or fifty feet behind him, was fetching his breath 
quite easily, while his face, just the least bit flushed, 
was serene and cheerful, Eugene had passed us with- 


HARRY DEE. 


137 


out moving his head one way or the other. Not so 
Percy: as he passed, he turned his smiling face upon 
us, bowed and doffed his cap, which he threw at 
Tom’s feet. 

“ That means a spurt,” said Tom. 

And he was quite right. As Percy passed the 
post, he put on full speed; and then you should have 
heard the “ ohs” and “ ahs” from the spectators. 

With every step he seemed to gain upon his com- 
petitor. 

“That’s the best base-runner at St. Maure’s Col- 
lege,” said Frank proudly. “And he can run bet- 
ter than that if he wants to, too.” 

I think Frank was exaggerating in this latter 
statement; for Percy was now running at his best. 
By the time Eugene had made his third quarter of 
the race Percy was but fifteen or twenty feet behind 
him. 

“I’ll bet he’ll be up with him inside of one hun- 
dred yards,” screamed Frank. “ I’ll put up my head 
on it.” 

The words were scarce out of Frank’s mouth when 
Eugene stumbled and fell. And weren’t we all 
proud of Percy and of St. Maure’s, when Percy 
stopped himself almost at once, then went back some 
twenty feet, and awaited patiently for Eugene to 
arise and resume his running. 

“There’s a gentleman for you,” ejaculated Mr. 
Scarborough; “ I consider it an honor to know him.” 

Percy in his generosity goes further than even we 
who knew him so well had counted upon; he, stands 
still till Eugene had made a start. Then, with a 
great spurt, he comes pattering closer and closer 
upon his rival. Now they are neck and neck, and 


138 


HARRY DEE. 


the goal is scarce twenty-five yards from them. On 
they come, breast to breast, Percy full flushed but 
composed, Eugene with swollen veins and panting 
breath. Now Percy breaks away from him: one 
foot, two 

“Come on, Percy, run away from him,” cried 
Frank. 

With another spurt, Percy comes on, graceful and 
swift — a second later he is at the post with his com- 
panion some ten feet behind. 

There were more races and other contests of skill, 
which I omit for the reason that graver matters are 
coming. 

The quiet tenor of school-life is to be broken upon 
by a certain train of adventures which are so strange 
and improbable that, in looking back upon them, I 
sometimes fancy that they are such things as dreams 
are made of, not realities of life. The shadow cast 
upon my early years by my uncle’s murder had not 
yet wholly lifted, as I was very shortly to find. 
The reader will see that the mystery is to give some 
hope — whether true or false, later events will show 
— of being solved; and so, leaving the pretty lake, 
and innocent Rose, and kind Mr. Scarborough, and 
atl the natural beauties of our vacation resort, I in- 
vite the reader to a change of scene. 


HARRY DEE. 


139 


CHAPTER XVII. 

IN WHICH TOM AND I SPEND A NIGHT IN THE '■'‘HA UNTED 

HOUSE," AND IN WHICH I MEET WITH AN EXTRA OE- 

DINA R V ADVENTURE. 

“VTES, Tom, that’s Tower Hill Mansion,” and 

1 I pointed to the gloomy abode which had been 
my uncle’s. 

It was the twilight of August i6th. Tom and I 
were seated in a barouche, hired for the occasion, 
and rapidly nearing the house whose horrid memo- 
ries had so important an influence on my life. 

“ It doesn’t look any too cheerful in the gloam- 
ing,” Tom observed. “What an awful racket those 
crows are making!” There was a number of these 
ugly black birds hovering in mid-air, uttering their 
raucous cries above the house, and very strange and 
eery they looked in the dying of the day. To my 
excited imagination they seemed to be incorporate 
spirits from another world — spirits of bloodshed and 
robbery and murder, gloating over a mansion conse- 
crated to their darling rites. 

We dismissed the driver at the gate, bidding him 
return for us at six the next morning. 

On reaching the massive, gloomy door I put down 
my valise, and opening it produced a heavy bunch 
of keys. They were quite rusty. 

“Those keys look worse haunted than the house,” 
observed Tom. 

“They haven’t been used in years, Tom,” and I 
proceeded to fit the heaviest of the keys in the lock. 
In inserting it, not without difficulty, I shook the 
door in its frame. Forthwith there came a series 


140 


HARRY DEE. 


of flapping noises within that sent my heart thump- 
ing against my ribs. I drew back with a start and 
would have fallen down the steps had not Tom 
caught me. 

The noises continued within, and it was on my 
lips to beg Tom to give up what I considered his 
romantic idea. 

“Cheer up, old boy,” said Tom, in his heartiest 
tones. “Ghosts don’t shake themselves in that 
style. I’ve got some holy water along; it’s a good 
thing to have in a house whether it’s haunted or 
not, you know, and then we’ve both got canes. Are 
you ready to unlock the door?” 

“Yes; but I’m a little afraid.” 

“ All right. Just wait till I get a good hold on my 
cane.” 

Tom grasped his cane at the lighter end, and 
raised it in such a position that he could strike at 
once. 

“ Now, old boy, make the sign of the cross and 
open that door.” 

I crossed myself and turned the key in the lock ; 
whereupon the noises within, which had subsided 
while we were talking, were again renewed. 

“ Don’t mind the racket, Harry; when you shove 
the door open, jump aside.” 

As I sent the door swinging ajar the hinges 
growled and grated, sounds not entirely dissimilar 
to the voice of him who had been their owner, while 
the flapping noises grew louder and quicker. You 
may be sure that I did not neglect to follow Tom’s 
advice. 

Tom, however, moved neither to one side nor the 
other; but, standing full in the doorway, strained 


HARRY DEE, 


141 

his eyes in an endeavor to read the secret of the 
noises within the dark hall. For some moments he 
stood listening intently; then an expression of relief 
came upon his features. 

‘'Bats!” he said. “There’s been a window or 
something left open, and they’ve taken charge of 
the hall. Now get out your lamp and we’ll go in, 
this side up with care.” 

We lighted our lamp and entered. I shivered as 
I crossed the threshold. The air within had the 
uncanny chillness of a deserted house upon it. The 
bats fluttered over us and around us, and certainly 
did not help to put me at my ease, although Tom 
changed not a muscle. 

“Let’s give the bats a chance,” said Tom, in his 
usual tone, as he threw the door wide open and 
raised the window. Presently he added: “Suppose 
we take a look at the library. This is it, isn’t it?” 

And Tom laid his hand on the door. I remem- 
bered it well; and as I entered I almost expected 
to see the grim figure of my uncle, seated at his desk, 
and peering at me over his spectacles. It was the 
same dark room ; darker, gloomier, dustier. As we 
entered, a rat scudded across the floor into its hole. 
There was dust on everything; dust on the straight- 
backed chairs, dust on the solemn lines of volumes, 
dust upon the floor, which gave our every footfall 
a muffled voice, warning us to leave unexplored this 
horrid home of dark-brooding silence. 

“ Let’s get out of here,” I said faintly. 

Tom did not seem to share my impression, for he 
gave a very close imitation of a Tom-cat at his best 
(for the benefit of the rats, I presume), and, before 
leading the way into the hall, traced his name 


142 


HARRY DEE. 


with his finger upon the dust-covered table. As we 
were passing by the door we noticed hanging over 
it a clock of medium size. It had stopped at twelve. 

“ I wonder how long ago that clock stopped ?” 
said Tom. “And was it midnight or midday?” 
I asked myself. 

“ Look at that clock in the hall !” exclaimed Tom, 
as we made our way out. “Well, if this doesn’t 
beat the world! It’s stopped at twelve, too.” 

I felt as though some one had thrown a bucket of 
ice-water down my back. The coincidence startled 
me. Who of us has not heard the popular supersti- 
tion to the effect that a clock stops at the moment 
its owner is murdered? It came upon me very 
vividly that my uncle, for all we knew, had met his 
awful fate at midnight. 

I was somewhat relieved, subsequently, by discov- 
ering that other clocks in the house had stopped 
with the register of quite a variety of hours and 
minutes. The large hall-clock seemed to have a 
strange interest for my companion. He peered into 
it, examined it on every side, and, as it was over 
six feet high, procured a chair to examine its top. 

“There’s dust here half an inch thick,” he said, 
and he brought out his handkerchief and was 
about to remove the layer, when he changed his 
purpose. 

“This is Aunt Jane’s handkerchief, and she’s 
awful particular about her dry-goods.” 

Instead of dusting the top, therefore, Tom con- 
tented himself with inscribing his name with his 
forefinger on top of the clock. 

“ Fools’ names and fools’ faces ” I began. 

“Are always seen in public places, but never on 


HARRY DEE. 


143 


top of clocks,” retorted Tom. “So,” he continued, 
after we had ascended the stairs and were looking 
down the gloomy length of the gloomy, long corri- 
dor, veiled in the gathering gloom of night, “this 
is the floor where you spent the night. Where’s 
your room? Let’s take that in first.” 

I led him to the end of the corridor, and opened 
the door of the corner room. How that fearful 
awakening came back to me! My own scream of 
agony again rang in my ears. As Tom placed the 
lamp on the table I gave a slight cry. 

“Look! look! the bed, just as I left it. There’s 
the coverlet and the sheet thrown back exactly as I 
turned them when I awoke and sprang from the bed, 
in dismay at finding that Mrs. Raynor had dis- 
appeared. Look!” I continued, pointing to a dark 
stain on the floor. 

“What’s that, Harry?” 

“The stain of blood! my uncle’s blood! and 
here’s the same black mark upon the pillow-slip.” 

Even Tom showed signs of emotion. He quickly 
mastered it, however, and said: “ Let’s clear out 
of this room; we’ve seen enough. Now for your 
uncle’s bedchamber.” 

We proceeded thither, where, to my relief, there 
was no striking sign of the tragedy. The bed was 
made, the room clean, saving, of course, the cover- 
ing of dust upon everything. 

“Now,” continued Tom, placing the lamp upon 
a table, “ here’s where we’re going to pass the 
night.” At that moment I wondered what madness 
had seized me to consent to this foolhardy enter- 
prise. 

“If your uncle’s ghost,” pursued my dauntless 


144 


HARRY DEE. 


friend serenely, “is allowed to wander at all, he’ll 
be very likely to come in here.” 

It is easy enough to talk about ghosts in broad 
daylight, but to discuss the probability of a mur- 
dered man’s spirit coming or not coming at night, 
and in the room where the man had been murdered, 
is an exhibition of daring in a small boy as rare as 
it is remarkable. 

Tom saw dismay upon my face. He laughed 
and added: 

“Well, we’ve got to keep distracted for awhile, or 
maybe we’ll find out that we’ve got nerves. Sup- 
pose, Harry, we say our beads to begin on ; I haven’t 
said mine to-day. I don’t know how it is with 
you, but the beads make me brave every time.” 

“It’s a good idea,” I answered. 

Together we recited the five decades and con- 
cluded with the litany of Loretto. 

“Now,” said Tom, looking at his watch, “it’s 
in order to take lunch.” 

And Tom opened the valise and placed upon a 
table a flask of cider, sandwiches, cakes, fruits, 
cold chicken, and a number of such things as boys 
at our age are wont to favor. 

The reader may be astonished, not so much at our 
volunteering to pass a night in a haunted house as 
at the fact that our elders should have allowed us to 
carry out so madcap a scheme. And, indeed, had 
it not been for an accident our plan would have 
been early nipped in the bud. 

For on my first proposing the matter to my 
father he had shown marked disapproval. How- 
ever, when I told him of all that Tom had said con- 
cerning the mystery he had become lost in thought. 


HARRY DEE. 145 

“Now, father, won’t you please let us go?” I 
asked. 

“ I’ll go myself,” was the answer. “ It will be no 
harm to try the plan. Of course, there’s no ques- 
tion of the house being haunted; that’s a bit of 
superstition. But there are some things worth look- 
ing up there in regard to your uncle’s death, and if 
one goes there one can hardly help staying all 
night. You ought to know now, my dear Harry,” 
continued my father, “ that it was chiefly on your 
account I gave up the pursuit of Mrs. Raynor.” 

“On my account, father?” 

“Yes; for it seemed to me that were we to suc- 
ceed in bringing to justice the woman whom you 
had loved as a mother your life would become 
somewhat embittered. But now that old feelings 
have been softened by time, and that you are a strong, 
healthy, cheerful boy, it might be good to stir up 
farther inquiries. Tom Playfair’s suggestion, 
though romantic, may have something of good in 
it. Yes; I’ll pass a night at Tower Hill Mansion 
myself.” 

“But won’t you let Tom and me come along, 
father?” 

“Boys are best in bed at night.” 

“ But we can sleep there, you know, and if any- 
thing happens you can wake us up.” 

“Well, on that condition you may come along.” 

Whereupon I hastened off to indite a note to Tom, 
telling him of my father’s decision and pressing 
him to come on at once. 

But before the letter could have reached Tom my 
father had an ugly fall from his horse. His hip 
was injured, and the doctor declared that it would 

lO 


146 


HARRY DEE. 


be madness for him to think of moving about for 
weeks. When Tom came upon the scene my father 
easily gave in to our pleadings; and so it was that 
two hours after my friend’s arrival we had taken 
the train en route for my uncle’s former dwelling. 

We dispatched our lunch very pleasantly, though 
I noticed with concern that Tom was beginning to 
yawn. The meal, all the same, gave me heart of 
grace, and I entered into conversation with Tom in 
really good spirits. But as mine rose Tom’s seemed 
to fall. As I became talkative he grew taciturn. 
True, he opened his mouth frequently, but only to 
gape or to excuse himself. His eyes, too, had be- 
come heavy. 

“Are you sleepy, Tom?’’ 

“Awful; what a dunce I was not to have taken a 
nap while we were journeying here. You see, old 
fellow, I can stand a lot, but two nights in succes- 
sion without sleep is more than I can go through 
decently.” 

“Two nights!” I repeated. “What was the mat- 
ter last night ? Didn’t you take a Pullman sleeper ?” 

“Yes; but a baby took it too. The baby might 
have taken the smoker and smoked. It would have 
succeeded in smoking just as well as it did in sleep- 
ing, and it wouldn’t have been so much of a nuisance. 
It made night hideous.” 

For a few moments the conversation dragged. 
On taking out my watch, I found that it wanted a 
quarter to eleven. I was about to communicate the 
fact to him, when I discovered that he was nodding. 

“Tom,” I said in all the bravery I had plucked 
up, “ you’re worn out for want of a little sleep. 
You’ve been travelling all day. It’s now a quarter 


HARRY DEE. 


147 


to eleven. An hour’s rest would make a new man 
of you.” 

“Will you call me before twelve?” murmured 
Tom, without opening his eyes. 

“Yes. Here, come over to the bed.” 

I helped him across the room and was about to 
assist him into the bed, when he threw himself on 
a chair standing at the head, and burying his face 
in his arms and his arms upon the pillow, fell 
asleep at once. 

And now, before I proceed any further with my 
account, I desire to warn the reader that from the 
moment of Tom’s falling asleep to his awakening 
I tell the events as I then honestly thought they 
occurred. 

I returned to the table then, and looked around 
the room; everything was in perfect order. I lis- 
tened; nothing but the quiet breathings of my sleep- 
ing friend broke upon the silence. 

Then making the sign of the cross, I took out of 
my valise — the “Pickwick Papers.” I had brought 
this book as a special counter-irritant to any feelings 
of depression. I regarded it as a book which would 
bring sunshine into a desert. I selected for my 
reading that very curious chapter where Mr. Samuel 
Weller writes a valentine. During a quarter of an 
hour’s reading I felt no nervousness at all. A 
little after eleven it occurred to me in a dim way 
that my head was becoming heavy. Presently I dis- 
covered that I was nodding, and even in the act my 
imagination had wandered from “ Samivel” and his 
father and was dwelling upon those two clocks which 
had stopped at twelve o’clock. 

“ Why did they stojf at twelve I ” 


148 


HARRY DEE. 


I Stared about me, alarmed by the sound my own 
voice had made. 

“This won’t do,” I muttered, and I arose and 
took a turn about the room. In doing so I passed 
quite near Tom and laid my hand gently upon his 
hair. He had not stirred from the position in which 
he had fallen asleep — face buried in his hands, his 
hands pressed upon the pillow. 

Feeling more wakeful, I again composed myself to 
read; and for ten or twelve minutes got on quite 
nicely. But once more I began to grow heavy. 
Shaking off the feeling, I took a glance at my watch, 
which was lying before me on the table. It was 
twenty minutes to twelve. 

“In five minutes I’ll call Tom,’’ was my reflec- 
tion as I resumed my volume. 

It seems to me that after reading two pages and a 
half I caught myself nodding again; and I think 
that I half formed a resolution to jump to my feet 
and take a turn about the room. After this there 
was a blank. 

Suddenly I started to my feet with a gasp and 
listened intently. 

There was a loud whirring noise and my hair 
seemed to stand on end as I listened. Even in this 
state of alarmed expectancy I took up my watch 
and glanced at it. It marked twelve to the minute. 
As I was still gazing upon its face, the watch fell 
from my nerveless grasp to the floor, when upon a 
sudden every clock in the house began to strike. 

One, two, three — 

I could clearly distinguish the deep tone of the 
hall clock. 

Four, five, six — 


HARRY DEE. 


149 


I wondered whether they would go to twelve. 

Seven, eight, nine. 

Ten, eleven, twelve. 

Then there succeeded a deathly silence, and on 
the moment a cold shivering came upon me. I 
turned to wake Tom. I made for the bed calling 
“ Tom!” 

What was it that froze the word upon my lips? 
I could not see Tom. Between him and myself 
there stood a sort of veil, a mist. 

I stood rooted to the spot, and as I paused, chain- 
bound in an agony of fright, the lamp at my side 
began to grow dimmer and dimmer while the mist 
became more and more luminous, more and more 
defined, more and more clear-cut, till, as the lamp 
sputtered out its life, the mist was no longer a mist 
but a luminous shadow — yet far more than a shadow. 
There was no. doubt to my mind that I was standing 
before the ghost of James Dee. 

“ Uncle!” I gasped. 

“Nephew,” came a hollow, sepulchral voice from 
that weird form, yet carrying in its hollow, sepulchral 
tones a hint of the old harshness. His face was still 
gloomy and heavy, stern and unrelenting — as it had 
been when I met him for the first time in the library 
— but it wore also the look of terror and agony 
which had fastened upon it in his last moments. I 
could now clearly see Tom behind, and through 
this strange apparition. He was still motionless. 
Was he alive? I called to him with all my force. 

“Tom! Tom!” 

But though my lips went through all the motions 
of speech, no sound followed. It was as though I 
had not spoken. My uncle, meanwhile, stood gazing 


HARRY DEE. 


150 

at me with his harsh frown and his stern eyes. I 
could stand the suspense no longer. 

“ Uncle, ” I cried, “ why do you appear to me thus ?” 

“Nephew! when did you see me last?” 

“Here, uncle — on that sad Christmas eve.” 

“ What did I do for you that night ?” 

“You made a will leaving me all your property.” 

“ What happened to me that night ?” 

“You were murdered in your bed.” 

“ Has the murder been avenged ?” 

“ Not yet, uncle.” 

“ Are you taking any measures to have it avenged ?” 

“No, uncle.” 

Oh! how I trembled beneath his searching glance. 

“ Nephew, listen: swear that you will take reason- 
able measures to have my murder avenged — reason- 
able measures. You are not bound to anything ex- 
traordinary. Do you understand ?” 

“ Yes, uncle.” 

“ Then lift up your right hand and say ‘I swear. ’ ” 

I complied, and even as I spoke the lamp sputtered 
again, the light rose higher and higher; my uncle’s 
figure became ill-defined and featureless, then re- 
solved itself into a mist, till, as the lamp gave 
forth its normal light, I was alone. I sank back 
into my chair and my eyes closed. In a moment 
I was again on my feet, and with two strides was 
beside my friend. 

Clutching him by the shoulder — 

“Tom! Tom!” I cried. 


HARRY DEE, 


151 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

IN WHICH THE HALL CLOCK TELLS A STORY. 

‘‘TJALLO! What’s the matter?” cried Tom, 

1 1 jumping to his feet and rubbing his eyes. 
“ Is it twelve ?” 

“O Tom!” 

I could say no more, but clinging to him, sobbed 
like a little child. 

Tom glanced at me anxiously and took out his 
watch. “Four minutes past twelve,” he exclaimed. 
“Tell me what’s happened, Harry. You needn’t be 
afraid. If you’ve seen a ghost you’re better off 
than most people.” 

“Tom, I’ve seen my uncle!” 

“You did? Tell me everything from the time I 
went to sleep till now.” 

With no little incoherence I gave him a full ac- 
count of my adventure. Tom was certainly aston- 
ished. At several points he was surprised, and was 
very particular in inquiring into the exact words my 
uncle used. These words and my answers he in- 
sisted on my repeating over and over again, and he 
seemed to find an import in them beyond what was 
on the surface. 

“Hallo! What’s this, Harry?” he exclaimed 
suddenly as he stooped tq the floor and picked up 
my watch. “Why, here’s more mystery. Your 
watch has stopped at twelve to the minute. There’s 
a coincidence.” 

“Yes; but it can be explained,” I answered. “I 
dropped my watch at twelve, and most probably the 
shock of the fall stopped it.” 


152 


HARRY DEE. 


“Suppose we take a look at those clocks. “ Lamp 
in hand, Tom led the way through the hall and 
went from room to room. But the clocks were as 
we had seen them at first. 

“Well, Tom,” I said, when we had completed this 
investigation, “what have you to say — what’s your 
advice?” 

“ Mrs. Raynor has to be found. Your uncle’s ap- 
pearance to you has thrown no light upon the mat- 
ter; and what’s more, I doubt whether he appeared 
to you at all. Ghosts that are anxious to have their 
murders avenged are good enough for story-books, 
but I don’t believe in them. If they were so anx- 
ious to have their murders avenged, all they’d need 
to do would be to appear to the fellow that murdered 
them and make faces at him.” 

“But, Tom, I’m sure I saw my uncle.” 

“ If he had come to ask your prayers for his soul, 
I could believe it; but the ‘avenge-his-foul-and- 
most-unnatural-murder’ sort of a ghost is a fraud. 
The fact is, Harry, I didn’t believe this house was 
haunted from the first; and now I’m sorry I talked 
about it seriously to you. I’m afraid it wound up 
your imagination: it would have been better had 
I wound up the clock. As it was, it was your imag- 
ination that struck twelve.” 

Tom talked in the same strain at some length, 
but he failed to convince me. 

The hours passed wearily, draggingly. What a 
cry of joy broke from me as the first faint streaks of 
day lined the eastern rim of the horizon. 

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” cried Tom. “Just wait 
till the sun takes his first peep at us. Then we’ll 


HARRY DEE. 153 

settle whether we think this house is haunted. 
Then, lunch. 

Brighter and brighter grew the eastern sky : the 
birds broke into song without in my uncle’s garden, 
and their singing sank into my heart like a healing 
balm. 

“Whoop-la! The sun!” exclaimed my compan- 
ion. “ Now, Harry, give me your honest verdict. 
Do you think this house is haunted?” 

“I do: what do you say, Tom? Do you think it 
is haunted? Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth.” 

Tom put his feet apart, his hands behind his back, 
and reflected. Suddenly his face lighted up and he 
clapped his hands together. 

“Harry,” he said, “I’ve got it. Come along.” 
And catching me by the hand, he hurried down the 
stairs. 

“Now,” he continued, “look at that clock.” 

Much puzzled, I fixed a steady gaze upon the hall 
clock, expecting from Tom’s animation that I was 
about to read the solution of my midnight adven- 
ture upon its face. 

“Well,” I said at length, “I see nothing striking 
about that clock.” 

“ If you don’t see anything striking about it, per- 
haps you hear something striking?” 

“ Look here, Tom, if you’ve hustled me down here 
to work off a vile pun like ” 

“Oh, hold on; there’s sense in my pun. You 
didn’t ” 

Here Tom suspended his sentence as he jumped 
upon a chair and examined the top of the clock. 
As he looked, his face brightened; he exclaimed 
under his breath, “I knew it,” and added aloud: 


154 


I/ARRY DEE. 


“You didn’t hear that clock strike last night, 
and I’ll bet I can prove it. Here — hop up on this 
chair and take a good look at the top.” 

I got up beside him on the chair. 

“What do you see?” he pursued. 

“I see lots of dust, varied by the name ‘Tom 
Playfair. ’ ” 

“Now, Harry, take a good look at that name; 
look at it letter by letter. Try to photograph it on 
your memory.” 

I was now deeply impressed, for I saw that Tom 
was both earnest and excited, so I gazed at the let- 
ters one by one till I was perfectly satisfied that 
examination could no farther go. 

“ Harry,” resumed my companion when we had 
stepped down from the chair, “ have you read many 
ghost-stories?” 

“Yes. The two years before coming to St. 
Maure’s I read every ghost-story I could get my 
hands on till our doctor found me out and told my 
father I was ruining myself. The doctor said that 
an occasional ghost-story might not harm a healthy 
boy, but that for one in my state of health nothing 
could be worse.” 

“Oh, bother the doctor! But didn’t you come 
across a good many ghosts appearing at midnight 
and just on the stroke of twelve?” 

“Yes; but, look here, Tom Playfair,” I began, 
somewhat nettled, “you needn’t try to make me be- 
lieve that I’m a born fool. I ” 

“ There’s no use in getting excited, Harry, and 
it’s no sign of foolishness to have a vivid imagina- 
tion. But even your doctor is against you. Why 
in the world should a ghost wait till it strikes 


HARRY DEE. 155 

twelve? That’s a bit out of story-books. But just 
wait till I prove you’re wrong.” 

Tom opened the clock-door, and after peering 
about for a few moments discovered the key. 

“Now, Harry, I’m going to put the hand of this 
clock back to one half minute to twelve. There! 
that’s done. Now I’m going to wind it — so ! and now 
that it’s wound we’ll both wait for results.” 

“Tick, tick,” went the clock solemnly and 
slowly. The sound of it sent a shiver through me. 
Tom, quick to divine my feelings, caught my hand 
and held it in his warm clasp. I gave his hand a 
hearty squeeze, and as I gave it I could see that 
Tom understood the squeeze to be an apology for 
my touch of temper in the conversation just set 
down. Tom answered the apology by a grin, which 
I interpreted as meaning “that’s all right, Harry.” 

It is thus that the small boy saves time and many 
words. 

Presently there was a whirr — whirr — whirr — a 
rasping convulsion that seemed to set the clock- 
case into a tremble and certainly sent me into that 
undesirable state; then the clock began to strike. 

Tom’s arm came around my neck at the first whirr ; 
and I was indeed grateful, for I had as lief face a 
wild beast of the forest just then as this striking clock. 

With much groaning and wheezing and internal 
agitation the clock gave forth its twelve strokes. 
Had it not been for Tom’s protecting arm I fear 
me I should have run away. The reader may laugh ; 
but such is the fact. Tom seemed to be highly 
pleased with the clock’s performance. 

“Look here, Harry, did the clock strike just that 
way last night ?” 


HARRY DEE, 


156 

“Exactly,” I answered promptly; “only, of 
course, I make allowances for the difference in dis- 
tance.” 

Tom was not pleased with this answer, and knit 
his brow in thought. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed presently, “didn’t you hear 
that clock strike the night you were here before ?” 

“Yes, indeed.” 

“And did you notice it particularly?” 

“ It scared me. I thought it sounded like my poor 
uncle and Caggett growling and groaning together.” 

“Whoo! what an imagination you had, Harry. 
No wonder you dreamed of it last night.” 

I was about to lose my temper, when Tom jumped 
upon the chair, gave one look, and uttered. a cry of 
triumph. 

“ Quod erat demonstrandum,, Harry. Hop up here 
quick and tell me what you think about it.” 

I took my former place beside him on the chair. 

“ Your name is a little blurred by the dust, ” I said. 

“Precisely: the clock, when it struck, set the dust 
a-flying, and that’s the result — see?” 

“Pshaw! what else could you expect?” 

“ Harry Dee,” exclaimed Tom in his highest tones, 
“where are your brains? If that clock struck at 
twelve o’clock last night my name would have 
been blurred then. It wasn’t. The dust upon the 
top wasn’t disturbed one bit last night; now do you 
see ?” 

“Tom, I take it back; I am a born fool; that 
clock did not strike last night.” 

“Consequently ” suggested Tom. 

“ Consequently I dreamed that it struck ; and — 
and — Tom, you’re right; it was a vivid dream.” 


HARRY DEE. 


157 


“ Now you’re talking sense. I’m mighty glad I 
put my name up there last night; it spoiled a ghost. 
This house, Harry, is no more haunted than I am. 
The fact is I never thought it was; but I thought 
it wouldn’t hurt to spend a night here, especially as 
it’s the best kind of fun.” 

“Yes — that’s all right, Tom; but we’re as far off 
now from the mystery as we were before.” 

“Not at all,” retorted Tom, “at least you are 
not. And now, Harry, you go to work and hunt up 
Mrs. Raynor, and you’ll find out something more.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN WHICH THE CHAPTER PROCEEDS FROM GA Y TO GRAPE, 
FROM LIVELY TO SEVERE. 


“ ^T^HOMA^ qucenam est hujus vocis significatio?” 

JL “Tom, what’s the meaning of this word?” 

I asked, pointing him to the word “ navicu- 
lariis" in the“ Manilian Law.” 

“ Reve^'a, nescio: nunquam antea vidi. ” 

“I’m sure I don’t know: never met it before.” 
dVonne derivatur a voce '‘navis' qucB anglice significat 
‘ship ’ ? ” 

“Isn’t it from '‘navis.,' 2 , ship?” inquired Harry 
Quip. 

“ Utique., Henrice : jainjam niagistrum hac de re 
rogavi, qui me certiorem fecit vocahulum istud significare 
‘ship-owner. ’ ” 

“Yes, Harry; I’ve already asked our professor, 
and he tells me that the word in question means a 
ship-owner,” came from Percy. 

“ Si quis me rogaret, quomodo anglice redderem isfa7n 


158 


HARRY DEE. 


partem ‘ mercatoribus et naviculariis injuriosius tracta- 
tis^' ita redderem: ‘Our counter-jumpers and ship- 
owners having been severely sat upon. 

“Were I asked to translate '"mercatoribus et navicu- 
lariis injuriosius tractatis^'' " put in Tom, “I’d render it 
this way: ‘Our counter-jumpers,’ ” etc. 

“ O gratice decentes^ quce^ si credendum sit Horatio, 
tempore veris terra7n alterno quatitis pede ubi gentium 
estis ! ” 

“Ye comely Graces, who, if we may credit Horace, 
strike the vernal earth with changing feet — where 
are ye?” 

No one but Percy could have delivered such an 
apostrophe. He alone of our band had dipped into 
Horace. 

It was an afternoon in October. We were in the 
blue grass — Quip, Ruthers, Tom, Percy, Whyte, 
Richards, and myself — each with Cicero’s “ Pro Lege 
Manilia" in his hand. Percy was seated with his 
back against a tree; the rest of us were lying about 
in various easy postures. Here we were in the class 
of Humanities and talking Latin twice a week. 

Not one of us had laid aside our Latin during the 
vacation months. Before leaving school we had 
agreed, “ for the honor of the class, for the honor of 
the school,” to give a certain number of hours each 
week to the reading of Cicero’s “ De AmicitiaP To 
make this more binding, we had furthermore agreed 
to submit ourselves to an examination in it (in trans- 
lation only) from Mr. Middleton on our return. In 
addition to this, we had kept up a correspondence 
with one another in Latin. Whence came all this 
energy ? The answer presents itself to every reader. 
From none other than Tom Playfair. That vigor- 


HARRY DEE. 


159 


(Ous little man had made up his mind that our class 
was to secure the intercollegiate medal if human 
<exertion could bring it about. On our return to 
^college he had at once organized this Latin acad- 
temy. Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon we 
came together in the blue grass, and for an hour 
studied and read and discussed that supreme work 
of elegant Latinity, Cicero’s “Manilian Law.” 
This speech belonged to the matter of rhetoric class, 
but we took it up all the same. During this hour 
.all the talking was in Latin. Strange as it may 
seem, these hours were among the pleasantest of the 
week. We had become really interested in Latin, 
and took as much pleasure in a new idiom or turn 
of expression as a botanist in a strange specimen. 
All of us had our note-books and made memoranda 
of every phrase that struck our fancy. 

On this bright October afternoon we looked much 
the same as during the preceding year. 

Percy had grown somewhat taller, but he was 
for all that a small boy. He was still clad in his 
sober black coat and black knickerbockers, for 
though taller than boys are wont to be who wear 
these latter, Percy still retained them; and indeed, 
his natural grace and fine figure, so different from 
the “ hobble-de-hoy” form, manner, and emotion of 
the ordinary boy of sixteen, gave a peculiar fitness 
to his costume. Tom, stout as ever, but two inches 
below Percy in height, was outwardly and inwardly 
the same noble fellow. Harry Quip had developed 
into a bookworm. 

Keenan and Donnel were no longer with us. They 
had been promoted to the senior division, leaving 
the leadership of the small yard to Percy and Tom. 


i6o 


HARRY DEE. 


On the occasion of this present meeting Tom was 
bubbling over with good-humor, but he found Latin 
a poor vehicle for his witticisms, and so grew very 
reckless about moods, tenses, and idioms. 

“ Habeo aliquid novi communicarc. Sed nescio quo- 

modo — hang it! — nescio qiiomodo — nescio — nescio ” 

“I have some news, boys,” he said, ‘’but I don’t 

know — a — hang it! — I can’t — can’t ” 

“ Non potes^ quce. tua est paiipertas verboru77i — retn 
Lati7ie expri77iere. ” 

“ You can’t with your narrow vocabulary put it 
into Latin,” said Percy, smiling. 

“ Re77i acu tetigisti. Oh quomodo iwlo (shade of 
Cicero !) ho7'a esset supra!"' 

“ You’ve hit the nail on the head,” was his answer. 
“ Oh, how I wish the hour was up ” \supra\ 

It was some time before we came at Tom’s mean- 
ing of “ supra. ” Percy announced the discovery with 
a musical laugh, in which we all joined. 

“ Te7npus est; licet anglice loqui. ” 

“Time’s up — you can talk English,” said Percy in 
due course; whereupon Tom began: 

“Boys, the best news in the world! Mr. Middle- 
ton thinks we’re losing too much of our play-time 

at this Latin business ” 

“Oh! that’s great news,” interpolated Quip sar- 
castically. 

“Let me have my inning out, will you? He’s 
been thinking about the matter, and he’s gone to the 
president and obtained permission for all the Hu- 
manities boys in the small yard to stay up half an 
hour longer than the other small boys every night!” 

“ Hurrah !” With what unanimity that cheer issued 
from six pairs of vigorous lungs! 


HARRY DEE. 


i6i 


“And that’s not all. He’s going to superintend 
our work himself. His plan is simply gorgeous. 
Listen, will you?” 

“We’re all ears,” said Quip. 

“ Every night he will assign us fifteen or sixteen 
lines from Cicero — a passage that we have never 
seen. The crowd of us are to spend ten minutes in 
making out the translation. Then the next night 
we are to take an idiomatic English translation, 
which he himself will make out, and put it back 
into Latin, trying to reproduce, as nearly as we can, 
the idiom and turns of expression which Cicero em- 
ployed. For this we are allowed twenty minutes.” 

“Splendid!” interjected Percy. 

“ But that’s not all. We are to hand in our 
themes to him when we go up to the dormitory. He 
will examine every one of them before he goes to 
bed, and he’ll pencil-mark them wherever we’re par- 
ticularly bad in blue, and where we’re particularly 
good in red, and occasionally, when he thinks it 
suitable, he will jot down a few words of criticism 
on our Latin style.” 

“Isn’t it great!” exclaimed Ruthers. 

“We’ll get a better course of training than the 
boys in day colleges,” Joe Whyte observed. 

“There are not three out yet, ” observed Tom 
dryly. “ Allow me to finish my inning. During 
this half-hour we can talk as much as we please.” 

“ Oh!” came the chorus. 

“ But only in Latin.” 

“ Ah!” 

“And I’ve given my word of honor that that con- 
dition will be observed faithfully. Now, in return 
for this favor, Mr. Middleton wants us to give up 

II 


i 62 


HARRY DEE. 


this hour on Tuesday and Thursday and put it in 
at good, solid physical exercise.” 

And then we gave Mr. Middleton such a cheer. 

“I wish I was Pope,” Quip observed solemnly. 
“I’d canonize our teacher the first thing.” 

“ No, you wouldn’t,” contradicted Richards with a 
smile. “You’d have to kill him first, and you’d be 
slow about that.” 

“Methinks,” exclaimed Tom, throwing himself 
into a dramatic attitude, “ I see a golden medal.” 

Then he spoils the attitude by leaping into the 
air, knocking his heels together, and adding: “‘In 
my mind’s eye, Horatio.’ ” 

“Just think of the six rhetoric and poetry classes 
that are to contend against us,” said Ruthers. 
“They’re older and they’ve been studying longer.” 

“Age hasn’t very much to do with it,” I put in. 

“Very little, indeed,” supplemented Percy. “We 
read of prominent men in England who were skilled 
in the classics at the age of ten or eleven. I knew 
a lawyer in Cincinnati who had been taught in child- 
hood by his father. He could read any Latin author, 
almost, when he was eleven.” 

“And there’s the Opium Eater,” added Richards, 
our great reader. “ When he was seventeen he used 
to read Greek tragedies, not to speak of Latin, with 
as much pleasure as we read a novel.” 

“ The difference between them and us, I should 
think, aside from the talent,” added Percy, “ is that 
they go at the study in earnest. They take hold of 
things with a strong grasp and don’t let loose 
easily. They don’t shirk difficulties. ” 

“ I reckon that’s what makes the difference between 
a great man and a small potato,” said Harry Quip. 


HARI^Y DEE. 


163 


“But now let’s look at our chances calmly,” and 
Tom Became very thoughtful as he spoke. “ Carlyle 
says that our —what was that quotation you made 
from Carlyle the other day, Percy?” 

‘“Our wishes are presentiments of our capabil- 
ities.”' 

“Precisely. Tally one for Carlyle. Now, we 
wish to get that medal just a little bit — don’t we?” 

“Oh! don’t we!” ejaculated Quip with a solemn 
roll of his eyes. 

“ Very well. In the next place, we’ve had a great 
advantage in keeping the same teacher. He’s fol- 
lowed us, and knows just where we are weak and 
where we are strong. He doesn’t have to spend a 
week or two each year in finding out what we don’t 
know. Best of all, he’s such a teacher. The boy 
who can’t learn from him must be made entirely of 
mud. In the third place, we’re in a boarding-col- 
lege, where it’s easier to study than in a day college. 
Now, the six other competing colleges are day 
schools.” 

“Yes,” said Ruthers. “ But what about the poets 
and rhetoricians of St. Maure’s?” 

“Well, that’s the great point. But if you come to 
look at things, I don’t see why we should be afraid 
of them. It’s this way. - Asa matter of fact, though 
we are only in Humanities, we’ve actually studied 
as much Latin already as boys have ordinarily studied 
when leaving poetry. Look at this! Last year we 
did double work in Latin; that is, we saw as much 
as we ought to see in two years. This year we’re 
going to do double work in Latin again; and our 
double work doesn’t run on versification, prosody, 
and the erudition of Latin, but is all bent to the 


164 


HARRY DEE. 


one single purpose of making ourselves good theme- 
writers. ” 

“That’s a solid reason,” said Percy, as indeed it 
was. There was another argument which Tom did 
not bring forward and which, in fact, could never 
have occurred to him. It was this. His little 
Ciceronian society was made up of members ex- 
traordinary not only in their energy, but also in their 
mental ability. Percy I consider to be the most 
gifted lad I have ever met. Very close to him came 
Tom. Richards was a boy of wondrous memory 
and a maturity beyond his years. The others were 
bright, quick, energetic. Taking it all in all, these 
little boys in their knickerbockers were as intellec- 
tual a set for their age as one could wish to meet 
with. 

Week after week passed away. October glided 
into December. January raged, February stormed, 
March wept — but change the seasons as they might, 
the Ciceronian club was hard at it night after night. 
The progress we made was something remarkable. 
At first I led all in command of idiom, while Tom 
was the authority as an off-hand translator. Insen- 
sibly Percy came to take rank with me, and long 
before spring he was my superior, not only in idiom 
but in facility. At Christmas we made one change 
in our programme. We shortened the time of trans- 
lation from ten to five minutes. This we did for two 
reasons. First, we found that as the weeks went on 
it became quite easy for us to read Cicero; secondly, 
we wished to give more time and finish to our theme. 

So wrapped was I in my studies that in looking 
back into that year I remember but few incidents 
of any note. 


HARRY DEE. 


i6s 

The only matter which distracted me from my 
books were the steps taken with regard to discover- 
ing the whereabouts of Mrs. Raynor. My father 
had placed the affair in the hands of a detective 
agency. The chief detective had assured us that 
although the search would be difficult we need 
entertain no doubts as to the final result. 

“Yes, sir,” he said emphatically, “we’ll find her 
— dead or alive. Our agency commands well-nigh 
every district in the United States, sir. Why, sir, 
a case like this is child’s play to us. Only two 
years ago one of our men yanked a defaulter out of 
a boat on the Zambesi River — followed him up, sir, 
from America to Europe, and then right smack into 
the heart of Africa. We never sleep, sir.” 

It occurred to me as I looked up into his blood- 
shot eyes that it would be a good thing for this 
vigilant detective were he to take a sound nap. 

I had not been two weeks back at St. Maure’s, 
when a telegram reached my father to this effect: 

We’ve got a clew. Mrs. R. known to have been in St. 
Louis two nights after the tragedy. Further news in a week. 

Horace Tinker, Chief Detective Bureau. 

One week later there came this letter which my 
father kindly sent me: 

It’s a mistake. It was not a Mrs. Raynor, but a Mr. Ray- 
nor at St. Louis two nights after the tragedy. Detective Green 
(one of the best men on our force) says that he thinks he’s got 
another clew. He will not mention it till he has discovered a 
few missing links. 

Probably Detective Green never came upon the 
missing link, for that was the last I heard of him. 


i66 


HARRY DEE. 


There was a long silence on the part of these sleep- 
less officials. 

In January the indefatigable Tinker announced 
that Mrs. Raynor was at length found. A week 
later he was compelled to acknowledge that this 
lady’s name was not Ada, but Gertrude, that she was 
over seventy years of age, and though old enough 
to be Mrs. Ada Raynor’s grandmother, no relation 
to my former nurse at all. Then Mr. Tinker re- 
lapsed into vigilant silence. 

CHAPTER XX. 

IN WHICH WILLIE TIPP CHANGES HIS NAME AND BECOMES 
THE LEADER OF A MISCHIEVOUS ORGANIZATION. 

I T was in the course of this year that Percy and 
Tom were instrumental in bringing about a 
great change for the better among the small boys. 
In order to make the incident intelligible, it is nec- 
essary to say a word about the “Artful Dodgers.” 

During my first year at St. Maure’s a boy of 
twelve, with light hair, sharp blue eyes, a nose that 
turned up slightly, and a fine mouth, which betrayed, 
in conjunction with the eyes, a strong sense of 
humor, entered the college. His sense of humor- 
seemed to develop with the passing months, in sO) 
far that in the spring he was already recognized asi 
the wag of the small yard. 

Willie Tipp was as good-hearted a boy as ever- 
came to St. Maure’s; but he was as thoughtless as; 
he was good-hearted. 

When he returned at the beginning of Septem-- 
ber he became a leader at once. All the fun-lovers,, 
all the harum-scarum boys, quite a number of the; 



HARRY DEE. 167 

worst boys, and quite a number of the best, enlisted 
under his standard. 

At this time “Oliver Twist” was being read to 
us during meals. Tipp’s sense of fun and lively 
imagination were taken by the character of the“ Art- 
ful Dodger.” He procured, one fine evening in Sep- 
tember, a set of garments, such as Dickens bestowed 
upon his too-fascinating thief, and taking the pose 
and mannerisms of his prototype. Master Tipp con- 
vulsed us all with laughter. From that evening he 
answered to the name “ Artful Dodger, ” or “ Dodger, ” 
as the case might be; Tipp was discarded. 

Next day Tipp persuaded Frank Burdock to start 
a pawnshop as the Jew, Fagin. Then the inventive 
young gentleman sent five or six of his companions 
right and left through the yard for the purpose of 
stealing handkerchiefs, pencils, and whatever they 
could discover worth taking out of their fellow- 
students’ pockets. 

“You see, Fagin,” he said to Frank, “whatever 
we get we fetch to you ; then you write out a ticket 
with a number and stick it on. After awhile I’ll 
send one of our ‘pals’ to the fellow whose goods 
are in your hands to let him know where they are; 
then he’ll come to you ” 

“Yes,” broke in Frank. “He’ll come along and 
hit me over the head or throw me over a fence or 
something. No, you don’t. Dodger; I don’t want 
to play pawnbroker.” 

“But look! I’ll have a lot of our fellows around 
to stand by you. When he comes up, you will tell 
him that you’re a poor old man named Fagin, and 
that you can’t give him back his goods unless he 
pays one chocolate caramel for each piece.” 


i68 


HARRY DEE. 


“ He won’t do it. ” 

“Yes, he will. Now go down in that corner of 
the yard, get your tickets ready, and I’ll have a 
bench fetched over for a counter.” 

Master Tipp had his will, and very soon Frank 
was standing behind a bench, gay with six handker- 
chiefs, three lead-pencils, two bean-shooters, and 
one memorandum-book. 

Tipp was right. The victims of this desperate 
gang of pickpockets took their losses very pleas- 
antly, and willingly redeemed their possessions with 
the ever-popular caramel. 

In this way thirty caramels passed into Frank’s 
hands up to the ringing of the first bell for studies. 
Then in a body came the elated band of pickpock- 
ets, five in number, to their pawnbroker. 

“Frank,” said Tipp, “you did splendidly.” 

“ Didn’t I ?” exclaimed Frank. 

“Now, boys,” continued Tipp, addressing the 
happy pickpockets, “we’ll have a square division. 
Frank, bring out the candy.” 

Frank was astonished. 

“Candy! Why I ate it just as soon as I got it.” 

Then Frank had to run, as it were, for dear life. 

The experiment, in consequence, was not repeated ; 
but the reformed thieves still clung to the name 
of the “Artful Dodgers.” Gradually, by common 
usage, everybody found ordinarily in the company of 
Tipp was set down as a member of the “gang,” and 
thus Tipp became notorious. In many ways Tipp 
had the qualities that go to the making of a leader 
of boys. He was good-natured, energetic, and truth- 
loving. This latter was a very necessary qualifica- 
tion. As a rule, boys hold a liar in contempt, how- 


HARRY DEE, 


169 


soever various and estimable be his other qualities. 
But what most of all secured Tipp his leadership 
was his power of invention. He was ever devising 
something new. One day it might be a game; an- 
other day a practical joke. Whatever it was, his 
followers counted on having some fun in the issue 
and they were rarely disappointed. 

The study-hall was his chosen field for quips and 
pranks. We had not passed a week at college when 
Tipp created his first diversion in that place of al- 
most sacred silence. 

Broadhead, a neighbor of his, commonly known 
as the “Anarchist,” owing to his bristling hair and 
his disregard for law and order, taking out a bean- 
shooter, had aimed a dried pea at Tipp’s face. The 
pea struck Tipp on the cheek. What was the amaze- 
ment and horror of Broadhead when Tipp gave a 
scream which rang through the study-hall, jumped 
from his seat, and, with much agony upon his coun- 
tenance, hurried toward the study-keeper’s desk, 
exclaiming aloud as he advanced: 

“O Mr. Middleton, some fellow’s hit me on the 
cheek with a piece of shot.” 

Mr. Middleton made a sharp gesture, which ar- 
rested the young wag’s steps; then he said deliber- 
ately, but in so low a voice that only those near 
him could catch the remark: 

“Tipp, if you’ll be kind enough to show me the 
exact spot on your face where you were struck. I’ll 
kiss it for you.” 

Tipp never tried a practical joke on Mr. Middle- 
ton again; and the Anarchist lost his bean-shooter. 

In nowise discouraged, Tipp changed his base of 
operations, or rather his time. The second hour of 


170 


HARRY DEE. 


studies was kept by Mr. Middleton’s assistant pre- 
fect, Mr. Auber. 

The night after his encounter with Mr. Middleton 
Tipp, anxious to make up for his lost prestige, took 
out his bottle of red ink, and, to the intense interest 
of some of his admirers, stained the tip of his nose 
red. Covering his mouth and lips with his hand- 
kerchief, he rushed up to the study-keeper's desk 
and madly waved his hat. 

It looked like a serious case of nose-bleed. 

The assistant prefect, who thus far had refused 
Tipp permission to go out every night, nodded assent, 
and Tipp, with a solemn face, despite the wink he" 
bestowed upon his chums, left the study-hall in 
triumph. 

The joke was unanimously voted a capital one; 
so good, indeed, that it was resolved to repeat it 
night after night with a different boy as chief actor 
each time. The plan worked nicely for a week till 
it came to Broadhead’s turn. This young man lost 
courage when, on entering the hall, he found that 
the prefect of studies. Father Tieman, had Mr. Au- 
ber’s place. Indeed, he contemplated abandoning 
his part, when a note from Tipp put him on his met- 
tle. 

He daubed his nose, therefore, and advanced. 
Every boy in the study-hall watched the proceeding. 

“Stand here with your nose to the wall,” said 
Father Tieman; “and if you show so much as the 
tip of it to a single boy during this hour. I’ll attend 
to you privately in my room.” 

There were no further cases of nose-bleeding af- 
ter that. 

Tipp next turned his attention to the yard. Some 


DEE. 


171 

of his jokes were good; many of them, I am bound 
to say, subversive of order. Tipp was a good boy 
in the main, and frequently felt remorse when, as 
the event showed, he had gone too far. On such 
occasions he invariably consulted Tom; and it was 
owing to the latter’s influence upon the leader that 
the “Artful Dodgers” did not go to extremes. Even 
as it was, they worried and annoyed poor Mr. Auber 
in season and out. 

One evening a number of us were seated on a 
bench at the end of the yard, some fifty feet west of 
the old church building, when Anarchist produced a 
cigarette. 

“I’m dying for a smoke,” he observed. 

Tipp glanced about the yard; it was twilight, and 
Mr. Auber was presiding prefect. 

“ I’ll tell you what. Anarchist,” he said, “ you can 
smoke right along without the least danger of being 
caught. You sit where you are, and ten or eleven 
of us will stand around you. Mr. Auber can tell 
that somebody’s smoking, but he won’t know who 
it is.” 

The crowd thought this an excellent plan, and 
forthwith a number jumped up and surrounded Broad- 
head, who at once lighted his cigarette and puffed 
away with great satisfaction. To make matters 
pleasanter, he passed the cigarette round to a few 
of his special friends, after the manner of a pipe of 
peace. 

Mr. Auber very soon noticed the smell of the 
burning cigarette, and moved slowly down toward 
where we were stationed. Of course the cigarette 
disappeared long before he got near us. 

“Good-evening, boys.” 


172 


HARRY DEE. 


We all lifted our caps and tried to look cheerful, 
but no one ventured upon uttering a word. 

Poor Mr. Auber became nervous. 

“ I thought ” he began : then he paused, looked 

irresolute, removed his hat, passed his hands through 
his hair, and walked away, leaving Broadhead to 
resume his smoke undisturbed. 

On the following evening I took care not to go 
near the bench, where, as usual, a number of the 
Dodgers had assembled. As I afterward learned, 
cigarettes were in abundance, Tipp, Broadhead, 
and several others having made provision, and the 
air soon became heavy with cigarette-smoke. 

To every one’s surprise, Mr. Middleton (who sel- 
dom entered the yard after supper before the sound 
of the first bell) suddenly appeared. 

The crowd was about to disperse. 

Mr. Middleton made a gesture which plainly 
signified, “Stay where you are.’’ 

“Now we’re in for it,’’ said Tipp as the prefect 
walked rapidly toward them. 

“He can’t find out who was smoking, anyhow,’’ 
suggested Richards. 

“Maybe he can’t,’’ answered Tipp; “but he’ll fix 
us some way or other.’’ 

“Shoo!’’ exclaimed Broadhead in a raised voice, 
“he can’t punish a fellow if he doesn’t catch him. 
You can just bet I’m not going to take any punish- 
ment.’’ 

“ Suppose you all sit down, boys,’’ said Mr. Mid- 
dleton, giving no sign to show that he had heard 
the words that Bob Broadhead had evidently in- 
tended for his ears. 

All obeyed and vainly tried to look comfortable. 


HARRY DEE. 


173 


“ Now,” continued the prefect, “ I’m going to give 
you fellows a lesson in catechism. Suppose a thief 
wanted to rob a man’s house, but couldn’t do it 
without the help of three other men. He explains 
his difficulties to three of his friends; they come to 
his help and assist him to rob. He clears one hun- 
dred dollars. You understand ?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Tipp. 

“Very good. Now, who is bound to make resti- 
tution ?” 

“Why, the thief, of course.” 

“ But suppose the thief died, leaving no effects: 
who in that case would have to make the robbery 
good ?” 

“All three of them, I reckon,” volunteered Rich- 
ards. 

“ And suppose all four were proven in court to 
have had a hand in the stealing, how many of them 
would be punished ?” 

“All of ’em would, sir,” answered Tip. 

“Now, apply all this to smoking on the sly; it’s 
against the college law and all concerned in it are 
liable to punishment. Next time you boys combine 
to help a smoker you shall all perform the penance. 
This time I’ll let you off. Broadhead, I’d like to 
have a word with you.” 

The Anarchist went about with his history under 
his arm for the next few days. 

The irrepressible Tipp now devoted himself to 
the wash-room, and Mr. Auber was put to his wits’ 
end at times to prevent serious disorder there. He 
was a timid man, rather retiring, and one could 
see that he was at a loss as to how he should deal 
with his troublesome charges. He generally con- 


174 


HARRY DEE. 


fined himself to running his hands through his hair 
and looking annoyed. 

The Dodgers used to feel sorry for him, for he 
was very gentle and they really liked him. But 
their sorrow was not sufficient to induce a lasting 
amendment. 

One morning in December matters went worse 
than usual. A quantity of red pepper placed on 
the stove set all the boys sneezing; the water-pipes 
were stuffed so that the boys had to go outside to 
the pump with their basins, and when they returned 
prefect and boys found themselves locked out. The 
locking-out had not been set down in the original 
programme; it was a happy thought, at the last mo- 
ment, of the Anarchist. 

Mr. Auber was thoroughly discouraged; so dis- 
couraged, in fact, that he could not conceal his feel- 
ings, though most of the boys were too excited and 
too intent on mischief to notice it. 

There is a certain class of students who, when 
once they make a fair and successful start in dis- 
order, know not where to stop. During this day it 
became evident that the spirit of mischief was 
abroad. After supper the leading members of the 
DodgOr crowd took their places in a far corner of 
the yard and engaged in an earnest consultation. 
Tom, Percy, Harry Quip, and myself were standing 
by the wash-room. 

“I say, boys,” said Tom, “Tipp is losing control 
of his crowd.” 

“ Is that so ?” said Percy ; “ why, I thought he 
could turn them round his finger.” 

“So he could, but they’re getting the start on 
him of late; and now Anarchist is beginning to get 


HARRY DEE. 


175 


the run of things. Tipp feels pretty blue, not so 
much because he is no longer leader, but because 
the Dodgers are going too far and he feels that he’s 
to blame for it. He was talking to me to-day and 
I advised him to draw out.” 

“ Is he going to?” asked Harry. 

“ He’d like to, he says, but he thinks that by 
staying with them he can keep them from follow- 
ing Anarchist blindly.” 

“I tell you what,” pursued Quip, “those fellows 
are hatching something now, or I’m badly mistaken. 
Tipp is there, but the Anarchist is doing most of 
the talking. His hair is standing up worse than 
ever, and if he keeps on getting excited it will raise 
his hat off his head.” 

“ Tom,” suggested Percy, “suppose we go over 
and join them ; you can do more with them than Tipp 
and the Anarchist put together.” 

I should note here that both Tom and Percy were, 
owing to their popularity, honorary members of the 
Dodger gang; while myself, Harry, and Joe were 
always treated as welcome guests. 

“ I’ve a notion to go down,” said Tom. “ In fact, 
Tipp wants me to help him out. He feels blue 
about the way Mr. Auber’s been treated, though he’s 
responsible for nearly everything that’s happened 
himself, and now he’s afraid that they’re going to 
give Mr. Auber just pecks and bushels of trouble 
straight ahead. I’ve been thinking about the mat- 
ter all day, and can’t see how to start them in 
some other direction. Somehow the idea won’t 
come.” 

“Suppose we go down anyhow,” urged Percy, 
“and once we get the fellows talking, you might 


176 


HARRY DEE. 


strike upon a plan right on the spur of the mo- 
ment.” 

“Well,” answered Tom, “we can’t do much harm 
and we may do some good. Come on.” 


CHAPTER XXL 

IN WHICH TOM PLAYFAIR AND PERCY WYNN COME TO 
TIPP'S RESCUE. 

T IPP received us with enthusiasm and made a 
place for Tom and Percy beside himself. 

“What are you fellows up to now?” asked Tom. 

“ We were just talking about the way we worked 
Auber this morning,” volunteered Broadhead. 

“ It was a pretty good joke. Anarchist — all except 
the locking-out business,” commented Tom, “and 
of course you did that. It’s like you to think that 
standing out in the cold is funny.” 

“I am told,” said Harry Quip, “that when the 
Anarchist was at home his father, in order to make 
him laugh, used to read him all the explosions, mur- 
ders, and railroad collisions out of the papers; and 
it seems that the more killed there were the more 
Anarchist laughed.” 

“That’s a fact,” said Tipp. “And when other 
boys were taken to a pantomime. Anarchist’s papa 
used to take him off to see the pigs killed. One 
day, after seeing a thousand pigs done up. Anarchist 
got to laughing so hard that he nearly died of it.” 

“ Oh, look here now; if you fellows get to poking 
fun at me like that I’ll go away.” 

“Heavens!” ejaculated Quip. “He calls this 
fun.” 


HARRY DEE. 177 

“Yes; and I’ll end the joke by throwing you over 
the fence,” snarled Broadhead. 

“Wouldn’t it be nicer if you were to make his 
nose bleed, Anarchist ?” said the suave Percy. “ The 
blood might remind you of old times.” 

Broadhead made a dash at Percy and aimed a 
blow which would have considerably marred my 
friend’s beauty had not Percy, by a quick movement, 
escaped it. The fence-paling awaited Broadhead’s 
fist; and the next thing we knew Percy was bandag- 
ing Broadhead’s hand as though they were insepa- 
rable friends, at the same time apologizing profusely 
for the words he had just uttered. 

“You needn’t be so mad, anyhow. Anarchist,” 
added Tipp. “You ought to know how to take a 
roasting just the same as the rest of us.” 

“That’s so,” said the chorus. 

By a happy accident Quip had taken a good step 
in making fun of Broadhead. Tom saw there was 
a point to be gained and followed it up. And even 
Percy, who studied to offend no one, had deliber- 
ately continued the teasing for the one purpose of 
lessening Broadhead’s influence with the crowd. 

Broadhead, by losing his temper, had helped them 
in their purpose; in a few moments he had lost the 
prestige gained by three or four weeks’ hard en- 
deavor. 

“So,” continued Tom, “you were talking about 
the surprise-party you gave Mr. Auber this morn- 
ing. Is that all ?” 

“No; we’re getting up another surprise-party 
for to-morrow. He’ll run his hands through his 
hair till there won’t be any hair left to run ’em 

through.” 

12 


178 


HARRY DEE. 


“What’s the scheme, Dodger?” asked our spokes- 
man. 

“ It’s not completely hatched out yet, but it’s 
going to begin this way. To-morrow afternoon’s a 
half-holiday, and there’s the privilege for all to go 
out walking if they get permission. Of course 
most of us can’t go, because the prefects won’t al- 
low fellows out who are not on the conduct list. 
Well, we’re going to get permission anyhow.” 

“How’ll you do that. Artful?” queried Quip. 

“Why, this way: we’ll wait till Mr. Middleton 
goes to dinner at a quarter to one. Then the whole 
crowd of us will get together by the pump and be- 
gin whispering and monkeying, as though we were 
up to some mischief. Of course Mr. Auber will 
get rattled right off, and he’ll come over to see 
what’s going on. Now, just as soon as he’s very 
near us, two of our fellows, who are on the good 
conduct list, will go up to him and say, ‘Mr. Auber, 
will you please let us go out?’ Of course he’ll say 
‘yes,’ or something of the sort. Then those two 
will give a whoop and say to all of us, ‘Hurrah! 
fellows, Mr. Auber says we can go out.’ Then the 
whole crowd of us will give a lot of whoops and 
scoot out of that yard as hard as we can put; and 
before Mr. Auber can tell a single one of us that he 
didn’t mean the permission for any except the two 
who asked, we’ll be clear out of sight.” 

“That’s about as cheeky a thing as I’ve heard in 
a long time,” observed Quip. 

“Is it?” exclaimed Tipp in delight. 

“And it’s clever, too,” added Tom. 

“ Do you think it will work, Tom ?” 

“Yes — on one condition,” 


HARRY DEE, 


179 


“ What’s that ?” 

“On condition that you fellows all back each 
other up by the tallest kind of lying.” 

Tipp’s jaw dropped. 

“ I don’t like that. We Dodgers have kept out of 
straight lying so far.” 

“And, of course, you’re not going to begin now,” 
added Percy. “Then there’s another thing, too. 
Aren’t you boys imposing on Mr, Auber too much? 
He lets you off so easily. I’ve heard it said that 
he can’t bear to punish a boy.” 

“That’s a fact,” put in Tipp promptly. “He 
gave me fifty lines for talking in*ranks, and we were 
at it for a week and then he let me off. But as 
sure as you’re born, when I got to thinking about it, 
it looked as if he had been punished and I had all 
the fun.” 

“There’s another thing,” put in Tom. “Mr. Au- 
ber doesn’t believe in punishing if he can avoid it. 
But if you fellows keep on he might start in whole- 
sale. He’s a timid man and very kind; but if he 
gets on the war-path the Anarchist will have a 
chance to snuff blood.” 

“You just leave me out of this Sunday-school 
meeting,” growled Broadhead, rising from his seat 
and walking off. Whereupon the boys, following 
time to his footsteps, whistled, with zeal and pro- 
priety, the “Rogue’s March.” 

“The fact is, fellows,” said a boy whose face was 
noticeable for its good-nature and decided squint, 
“we’ve been a heap too hard on Mr. Auber.” 

“That’s so,” assented several. 

“In fact,” said another, “we’ve been mean; he’s 
always been very kind to us.” 


i8o 


HARRY DEE, 


“The boys of Rhetoric class,” put in Percy, “say 
that he’s the most wonderful man they ever met. 
They say that when he gets started in class he talks 
like a book, and when he warms up to a subject he 
becomes really eloquent. His timidity all goes, 
his eyes flash, and he talks like an orator. He’s a 
poet, too; and the leader of the class said that 
Mr. Auber was the nearest thing to a genius that 
he ever met.” 

“All the same,” pursued Harry Quip, “we treat 
him as if he were nobody.” 

The conversation soon became very general, and 
quite a number who had feared to express their sen- 
timents in the presence of Broadhead now came out 
strongly in favor of Mr. Auber. There were sev- 
eral close observers among the Dodgers, and it was 
astonishing to hear all the little traits of kindness 
and consideration they had noticed in their prefect 
during the preceding three months. 

“ And yet,” said Percy, “ Mr. Auber thinks you’re 
all down on him; and one of his class told me to- 
day that he felt he’d have to give up prefecting as 
a bad job.” 

“Talking about giving him a surprise-party,” said 
Tom with great animation, “ it just now occurs to 
me that we can kill two birds with one stone — we 
can give him a surprise and at the same time show 
him that we like him.” 

“What’s your scheme?” asked Tipp. 

“ Why, suppose we club together and get him a 
present, and you in the name of the Dodgers make 
the speech.” 

For a moment there was silence. Tom’s move 
was certainly bold. 


HARRY DEE. 


i8i 


“Here’s two dollars, Tipp; it’s every cent I’ve 
got,” continued Tom; “and if I had more I’d give 
it.” 

“Immense!” cried Tipp; “I’ve only got fifty cents 
and I owe fifty-five, but in it goes.” And Tipp 
put his money with Tom’s into his cap, and when 
he had made the rounds there wasn’t a boy there who 
had a cent left. 

“By the way,” said Quip, “there’s a rule in the 
college forbidding the boys to give presents to any 
of the professors.” 

“The Dodgers don’t mind a rule more or less,” 
observed Tipp with a grin. 

“Yes, but Mr. Auber does; he won’t take your 
present.” 

“Suppose we get permission from the president,” 
suggested Percy. 

“Yes, Percy,” said Tom, who was helping Quip 
count the money, “you and Tipp and Harry 
Dee go up and ask him while I count these 
nickels.” 

We were off at once. 

The president was seated at his table poring over 
a bit of paper; he started on seeing who we were 
and with an effort smiled. I could see at once that 
he was disturbed about something. 

“Pather,” began Percy, “we’d like to make a 
present to one of the teachers. ” 

“It’s not allowed, Percy. I thank you, in his 
name, for your good-will.” 

“ But, Father, it is not exactly to a professor but 
to a prefect we want to make it.” 

“Oh, indeed. Mr. Middleton is already assured 
of your good-will, and I ” 


i 82 


HARRY DEE. 


“Excuse me, Father; we’re talking about Mr. 
Auber.” 

The president sat bolt upright. 

“ What’s that?” 

“The Artful Dodgers, Father, want to give Mr. 
Auber a present, ’’ 

The smile upon the president’s face was no 
longer forced. He took the paper over which he 
had been poring and tore it into small bits. 

“The Artful Dodgers?’’ he repeated. 

“ Yes, sir,” put in Tipp. “ It’ll do us good, sir, if 
you give us permission.” 

“The Artful Dodgers,” answered the president, 
“may give anything they like to Mr. Auber.’' 

“I wonder what that paper was ?” exclaimed Tipp 
as we started for the yard. 

“So do I,” said Percy. 

I never forgot that paper; and seven years later 
I learned from the president himself that it con- 
tained reasons pro and con for expelling Tipp. Just 
as we knocked at his door he had determined to ex- 
pel Tipp on the morrow as being a promoter of 
disorder. 

“Well,” said Tom, when we had announced the 
result of our petition, “we’ve got just nineteen dol- 
lars and seventy-five cents.” 

“Pity we can’t make it twenty,” sighed Tipp. 

“Of course we can,” said Quip; “what’s the mat- 
ter with Anarchist?” 

“ That’s a fact,” cried Tipp. “Boys, we’ll make 
the Anarchist fork over or we’ll kick him out of 
the gang — eh ?” 

There was a unanimous chorus of assenting 
voices. 


HARRY DEE. 183 

Five minutes later Broadhead had resigned, and 
twenty-five cents were still wanting. 

Then Tipp went to the wash-room and brought 
out his baseball bat, which was the envy of every 
boy in the small yard. Tom had offered him a dol- 
lar for it, Percy a dollar and a quarter ; but Tipp loved 
that bat and had said that money could not buy it. 

And now he got permission to go to the large 
yard. He returned presently without the bat and 
handed Tom a quarter. 

“There’s the twenty dollars, Tom.” 

And when the boys heard of Tipp’s most epic 
sacrifice they were dumb with admiration. 

Tipp was the hero of the hour, and he retired to 
bed that night the most popular boy, for the time 
being, in St. Maure’s, and, I verily believe, the 
happiest that ever laid head upon a pillow. 

Tipp had a good heart. 


CHAPTER XXH. 

m WHICH PERCY WYNN GOES BAREFOOT FOR THE FIRST 
AND ONLY TIME IN HIS LIFE. 

“ T T ARRY,” said Percy to me just before night- 
1 1 prayers, “ I want you to keep your eyes on 
Broadhead. ” 

“Why, what’s Anarchist up to?” 

“ That’s just what I’d like to find out. During 
first recess, while Tom and Tipp and myself were 
walking up and down talking about the silver watch 
we’re going to buy Mr. Auber, Broadhead came up 
and called Tom an awful name.” 

“And what did Tom do?” 


184 


HAI^RY DEE. 


“ He asked the Anarchist whether he wouldn’t take 
some candy. Then the Anarchist became furious 
and offered to fight. Tom only laughed. Broad- 
head rushed on him, but Tipp and I got hold of his 
arms and held him. The Anarchist really seemed 
to foam at the mouth and said: ‘Never mind; I’ll 
get even with you fellows, pretty quick, too.’ And 
he walked off swearing in an awful way.” 

“The Anarchist is a pretty hard nut,” I said. 
“But is Tom nervous?” 

“Nervous? I should say not; and there’s just 
the trouble. It’s my opinion that Broadhead means 
mischief. He’s a bad boy, and from all I’ve seen 
of him this year of a very revengeful disposition. 
We’d better look out for him.” 

I now follow Percy’s account. 

That night he tossed restlessly upon his bed, un- 
able to sleep for thinking of Broadhead’s words and 
conduct. It was hard upon midnight when he fell 
into a troubled sleep. His visions centred about 
Tom. Tom was standing upon the edge of a preci- 
pice; stealthily creeping upon him was Broadhead. 
Percy essayed to shout out a warning, but his 
tongue seemed to be tied; again and again he tried 
to shout, but to no purpose. Nearer and nearer crept 
Broadhead; nearer and nearer, and still Tom was 
unconscious of his imminent danger. Percy tried 
to pray, but words of prayer came not. Suddenly 
the Anarchist made a spring upon Tom, and Percy’s 
best friend, with a loud cry, disappeared over the edge. 

The cry seemed to awaken Percy; he found him- 
self sitting up in bed with drops of perspiration 
rolling down his face. How eagerly he thanked 
God that it was but a dream! He jumped from his 


HARRY DEE, 


185 

bed and ran over to Tom. His friend was sleeping 
soundly, his face, tranquil and composed, pillowed 
upon his arm. 

Percy then looked toward Broadhead’s bed and 
gave a start. Broadhead was not there. 

Not stopping to think, but acting by a sort of in- 
tuition, Percy pulled on his knee-breeches and, 
bareheaded and barefooted, hastened to the dormi- 
tory door. It was locked. 

Broadhead, therefore, must have made his way 
out through one of the two windows giving upon 
the shed at the eastern end of the dormitory. To 
get out of either of these windows it was necessary 
to pass over a sleeping form: Mr. Middleton was in 
one bed, Harry Quip in the other. 

On first thought Percy determined to go out 
through Mr. Middleton’s window; he knew that his 
teacher, like many hard, energetic workers, was an 
extremely sound sleeper, and he felt certain that he 
could thus escape unobserved. But even then Percy’s 
strong sense of reverence and respect asserted itself, 
and he chose the other window. 

Harry Quip, as Percy’s foot pressed upon his bed, 
gave a light start; but before he had opened his 
eyes our midnight adventurer was upon the sloping 
roof of the shed. The ground, twelve feet below 
him, was rough and stony; ordinarily Percy would 
not have thought of jumping down even in his shoes. 
But on this occasion he gave himself no time, but 
dropped at once. A sharp pain ran through his 
foot as he touched ground — a pain to which 
he gave no attention. Off he dashed, this bare- 
footed boy, for dear life toward the study-hall. And 
it was well he had done so; for as he came near he 


i86 


HARRY DEE. 


saw plainly, by the light of the moon in its third 
quarter, Broadhead jumping out of the window. 

Broadhead, on the instant, saw him too, and at 
once took to his heels, making toward the college 
gate with a start of at least four hundred feet. 

“Now for a long run,” thought Percy, and he 
fell into a slower but steady, long-distance pace. 

To understand what follows it should be stated 
that Broadhead was supposed to be, with the excep- 
tion of Tom, the strongest boy in the small yard. 
He was thick-set, with very strong legs and arms, 
and if his own account could be believed, the hero 
of many a fight. He had begun his career in St. 
Maure’s by thrashing some five or six of the Dod- 
gers; consequently he was highly esteemed by a large 
number. He was an athlete, too. On the turning- 
pole he was second to none, and in baseball he suc- 
ceeded Donnel as the heavy hitter. Such was the 
boy that Percy the gentle, who had never yet en- 
gaged in a fight, was now pursuing. Percy was 
slightly taller, but he was lighter by at least fifteen 
pounds. 

Broadhead, on passing through the gate, turned 
eastward toward Pawnee Creek. Whether he knew 
who was his pursuer or not it is impossible to say. 
Probably he suspected that a man, perhaps even a 
college official, was after him. Whatever was the 
case he ran at full speed, and for the first five min- 
utes he continued to increase the distance between 
himself and his pursuer. Percy, meanwhile, held an 
even pace, breathing quite easily. Very soon Broad- 
head lost his wind: he was forced to go slower, and 
saw himself that unless something be done his cap- 
ture would be a question of time. Percy saw it. 


HARRY DEE. 187 

too, and wondered what he should do upon their 
coming together. 

His deliberations were cut short, for Broadhead, 
who had reached a part on the track just opposite 
a spot on the highway where repairs were being 
made, suddenly dashed aside to a pile of stones, 
and before Percy was aware of his purpose, sent one 
of these missiles at Percy’s head. 

Percy paused, while another and another and an- 
other stone flew past him. To go nearer would 
inevitably lead to his being knocked senseless. 
Broadhead was throwing with all his force. Sud- 
denly a light flashed upon him. Just three days 
before Frank Burdock had received from his father 
a toy pistol. Now, Frank happened to have at that 
time no room for it among the curiosities that swelled 
his pockets; so partly as a matter of convenience, 
partly to show favor to the boy whom he delighted 
to honor, he had intrusted it to Percy’s care. Draw- 
ing this from his pocket, Percy covered Broadhead. 

“If you don’t drop those stones, Broadhead, I’ll 
shoot.” 

There was prompt obedience. 

“ Is that you, Percy Wynn ?” 

Percy never answered, but moved on steadily, 
still covering his antagonist. 

“Say, put down that pistol.” 

Percy paused. 

“I won’t hurt you if you don’t move. Promise 
to stand perfectly quiet and I’ll put it down.” 

“I promise.” 

Still holding the pistol in his hand, but pointed 
toward the ground, Percy walked forward till he 
stood face to face with Broadhead. 


i88 


HARRY DEE. 


“Hallo!” cried Broadhead. “ You’ve fooled me; 
that’s a toy pistol.” 

“Just so,” answered Percy, “but it has served its 
purpose.” 

“ What do you want, anyhow ? Is it any of your 
business if I choose to run away from school ?” 

Percy paused to nerve himself. 

“Bob Broadhead, I want to examine you.” 

“ To examine me ?” 

“Yes. I want to go through your pockets and 
see what you’re carrying away. There were twenty 
dollars in Tipp’s box in the study-hall last 
night ” 

“ Do you mean to say I stole ’em?” 

“ No; but I mean to find out.” 

“I’ll tell you what, Wynn, I’m going to give you 
the worst thrashing you ever heard about.” 

“ Maybe; but you’re not going to get away till I 
know what you’re taking with you.” 

Percy had restored the pistol to its place and was 
watching every move of his adversary. 

“ Oh, you want to fight, do you ?” 

“No, indeed; I’d prefer not to, but I’ve got to 
find out at any cost what you’re taking away.” 

Broadhead laughed; he knew that there wasn’t a 
milder boy in Kansas than Percy. 

“ If you don’t clear off,” he said contemptuously, 
“I’ll smash in your face.” 

“Once more,” said Percy, “will you show me 
what you’ve got ?” 

Broadhead folded his arms and laughed again. 

“ Tom Playfair isn’t around to back you up, Wynn.” 

“Well, I’m going to go through your pockets 
anyhow, Broadhead.” 


HARRY DEE. 


189 


He took one step forward; Broadhead met him 
half-way and would have closed with him, but 
Percy, who had come to the conclusion that he had 
a right to search Broadhead now that he was cer- 
tain that he had to do with a thief, and who was 
resolved to use every lawful means to attain his end, 
at once drew back. He feared that in a wrestling- 
bout he would be no match for his heavy, muscular 
opponent. Several quick blows were parried on 
both sides, when Percy succeeded in striking Broad- 
head a blow under the chin that sent him staggering. 
Before Broadhead could recover himself Percy de- 
livered two very telling blows which sent the thief 
to the earth. 

On the instant Percy was astride him, pinioning 
his legs by the position he took, and holding him 
down in such a manner that Broadhead could scarcely 
move hand or foot. 

“Now, Broadhead, you see how I’ve got you,’’ 
Percy began when he felt sure of his position. 
“Unless you want to get thrashed, hand over that 
money.’’ 

“I won’t.’’ 

“Very well; I’ll give you a half-hour or so to 
think about it.’’ 

And there Percy sat for several minutes. 

It was a cold night. The stars, calm and soft, 
gazed down upon the bareheaded, barefooted, del- 
icate, gentle-faced small boy, who, though he 
shivered at times, did not seem to realize that a 
light undershirt and a pair of knee-breeches were 
very inadequate garments for such a vigil. The 
stars, too, must have seen a trail of blood upon this 
strange boy’s right leg. Ah! but the soles of his 


190 


HARRY DEE. 


feet! Percy had never gone barefooted in the 
course of all his summerings, and the many lines 
and gashes that marked his soles could not be seen 
for the blood that was flowing from them. There 
was a time when Percy would have fainted at the 
sight of blood ; now he gave it but a passing thought 
as he stared straight into the eyes of his prostrate 
foe. 

But though he seemed to be intent on staring 
Broadhead out of countenance, he was feeling his 
way for the money. By moving his legs, now one 
way, now another, he satisfied himself that there 
was nothing in Broadhead’s trousers pockets but a 
pocket-knife and one or two small articles. As 
Percy knew that the money had been tied up in a 
handkerchief, he could infer that there was no ne- 
cessity of taking Broadhead’s vest into account. It 
followed, then, that the money must be in the boy’s 
coat pocket. But which pocket? In order to carry 
out his plan Percy must make no mistake. He 
must know the right pocket or his whole plan would 
fail and the struggle would have to begin again. 

Broadhead had neglected to take his overcoat with 
him. The coat he wore had two outside pockets, one 
on the right and one on the left. 

With these data before him Percy reasoned thus: 

“Broadhead hurries out of the dormitory and 
makes straight for the study-hall; when he gets to 
the study-hall he is in a great hurry, for he doesn’t 
even take time to get his coat, which I saw him 
hang up just before he went to bed. He is nervous 
and afraid of being caught, otherwise he’d have 
taken that coat, as it wouldn’t have taken him tw,o 
seconds of time. Now, when he opens the box he 


HARRY DEE. 


191 

turned the key with his right hand, because he’s 
right-handed; he opens the lid with his left, takes 
out the handkerchief of money with his left, and 
drops it into his left-hand pocket and hurries away. 
If he didn’t do that he ought to have done it, any- 
how. Therefore it’s probable that the money is 
still there.” 

Here Percy, before acting upon this hypothesis, 
breathes a short prayer. He is beginning to suffer 
from the cold night air and sharp pains are shoot- 
ing through his bare feet. 

Then suddenly he gives Broadhead a jerk that 
throws him on his right side, dives into his left- 
hand pocket, and with a cry of joy brings out the 
handkerchief just as he saw it last night in Tom 
Playfair’s hands. He makes no pause to examine 
it, but springing to his feet dashes at full speed back 
toward the college. He has cleared twenty yards be- 
fore Broadhead arises; as he patters on a few stones 
pass by him, for Broadhead, satisfied that he is no 
match for Percy in speed, is contented to throw 
stones. The robber has been robbed. 

When Percy got to a safe distance he fell into a 
walk and then noticed that his feet were covered 
with blood. 

Before he reached the college he was hardly able to 
walk at all. With pain and exceeding difficulty he 
made his way to the infirmary, and there he was kept 
for a week. 

He had Tom by his side next morning, and there, 
under strict secrecy, related his adventure and re- 
stored his astonished friend the money. None of 
the Dodgers, save Tipp, knew till long afterward 
what a strange midnight adventure had been brought 


HARRY DEE. 


I 92 

about by their twenty dollars. The story leaked 
out gradually, though Percy absolutely and con- 
stantly refused to talk of it in public. 

Broadhead never returned. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

IN WHICH TIPP MAKES A SPEECH. 

I T is hardly necessary to state that Mr. Middle- 
ton was let into the secret that swelled the 
breasts of the Artful Dodgers. He was delighted 
with their purpose and abetted the benevolent con- 
spirators to the full of his power. 

Before supper on a Monday evening Tipp ap- 
proached Mr. Auber: 

“Mr. Auber,” he said, touching his cap very re- 
spectfully, “ I wish you’d kindly let me have the 
keys of the wash-room. Myself and the rest of the 
Dodgers want to fix up in style.” 

A vision of flying shoe-brushes, knotted towels, 
missing shoe-blacking, much raising of dust, and 
general confusion shot before the prefect’s fancy. 
He was familiar with such occurrences and he looked 
at Tipp very seriously. 

“ Oh, we’re not going to cut up — honor bright, Mr. 
Auber. If there’s a single thing out of place you 
can punish me.” 

Mr. Auber, much as he had suffered from Tipp, 
knew that the boy before him could be depended 
upon. Out of the wreck of Tipp’s reputation truth 
had been saved ; and it is hard to despise a boy so 
long as his word is sacred. 

So the prefect tendered Tipp the keys; more, he 


HARRY DEE. 


193 


refrained from going near the wash-room, though for 
the next twenty minutes it was occupied by fifty 
boys who in the matter of scrapes were makers of 
history. 

And his trust was well placed; never was there a 
more sober set of students than the fifty now in the 
wash-room. They spoke quietly and pursued their 
work steadily. One would think they were prepar- 
ing for a funeral. 

“There’s one thing I notice, boys,” said Tipp, 
when nearly all were ready to go out, “ and it’s 
worth thinking about. We’ve been in here nearly 
twenty minutes, I reckon, and Mr. Auber hasn’t 
come near us.’’ 

“What did you tell him, Tipp?’’ queried Tom. 

“I told him I’d be responsibe and that our fel- 
lows didn’t intend to cut up. Yes, sir,’’ cried Tipp, 
his eyes dancing and his face flushing, “and he 
takes my word and he trusts us Dodgers just the 
same as if we had acted like gentlemen all the time. 
There he is now, down at the other end of the yard, 
looking on at a game of ‘nigger baby’ just as if we 
were all in San Francisco.’’ 

“And I guess if most of us were in his place,’’ put 
in Harry Quip, “we wouldn’t trust the Dodgers half 
as far as we could see ’em.’’ 

I really believe the Dodgers as they left the wash- 
room were in love with Mr. Auber. They were a 
wild set of fellows, but owing partly to their nat- 
urally good dispositions and their religious training, 
partly to Tipp’s control and Playfair’s influence, 
they were roughly honest. Show a set of boys such 
as these that you value their honor, that you take 
their word as something serious and sacred, and you 

13 


194 


HARRY DEE. 


can count on them infallibly. I am speaking here 
of the small boy. 

The Dodgers created a sensation when they en- 
tered the yard. There were no “ dudes” in that no- 
torious association, the popular taste among them 
tending rather to slouchiness. But now! Tipp 
led the procession, wearing a stiff hat, and upon his 
spotless white shirt rested a jewelled neck-tie. He 
wore his “ Sunday” clothes and his boots were 
blacked. Nor was it the perfunctory style of black- 
ing which generally characterized his efforts in that 
direction ; even the back of the heels (where the 
lively small boy finds it difficult to reach) shone as 
perfectly as the shining toes. Tipp’s splendors 
were emulated, though not surpassed, by those of sev- 
eral others. In a word, and to bring the picture 
vividly before all, there were fifteen stiff hats in the 
crowd. Now, the Dodgers were known to be preju- 
diced in the matter of stiff hats, each member or- 
dinarily feeling it to be his duty to smash in every 
one he could reach with his hand. Clearly, then, 
something great was at hand. 

The bell rang for supper and the boys, with a 
promptness and order that were commendable, fell 
into ranks. So prompt were they that Mr. Middle- 
ton gave the signal to march before the large boys 
had fairly gotten together. 

The large boys, still waiting the signal to start, 
at once noticed that there was something strange 
about the advancing line, and Mr. Cavanne, who 
with his back to the approaching procession was 
eying his charges, suddenly saw one hundred sol- 
emn faces break into luxuriant grins, like a trans- 
formation scene in a pantomime. 


JfAJ^RY DEE. 


195 


He turned; he saw the solemn-faced Tipp, the 
serious line of small toys, the fifteen stiff hats 
variegating the procession like so many banners; 
and then Mr. Cavanne, the strict, the exact tamer 
of boys and trainer of men, burst into a roar of 
laughter. 

The small boys passed on unmoved, though their 
every step was accompanied by bursts of hilarity. 

“ Supper went off with a snap,” Harry Quip re- 
marked as we pushed out of the refectory, which 
being interpreted means that we ate a good quan- 
tity of food in the smallest compass of time. 

“Mr. Auber,” said Tom, “it’s a pretty cool 
night, and if you please the fellows would like it 
if you’d open up the wash-room.” 

As not a boy remained in the yard, Mr. Auber 
was compelled to enter with the crowd. 

On his entrance there was a dead silence. Tom 
moved over quietly to the door and shut it; every 
boy rose and removed his hat; and Tipp, nervous 
but eager-eyed, stepped forward. 

“Mr. Auber,” he said, “we Dodgers have per- 
mission to make you a present. Here it is.” 

Frank Burdock advanced and presented a silver 
watch. Mr. Auber took it mechanically with one 
hand while he began passing the other through his 
hair very rapidly. 

It was difficult to judge which of the two was the 
more frightened, which blushed the more violently, 
Tipp or Mr. Auber. 

“Ten to one they both faint,” whispered the ir- 
reverent Quip in my ear. 

“Go on, Tipp, you’re doing immensely,” said Tom 
in the voice that so often carried encouragement. 


196 


HARRY DEE. 


“Mr. Auber,” continued the orator, shuffling his 
feet and getting one shoulder hopelessly higher 
than the other, “we’ve been a blamed hard lot.’’ 

One of Tipp’s arms seemed to get out of joint at 
the escape of the word “blamed.” 

“Go on,” growled Tom; “‘blamed’ is all right.” 

“And, sir, we’ve acted in such a way that I guess 
you wish we were all dead.” 

He paused. 

“And buried, too,” he added in a burst of inspi- 
ration. “But we didn’t mean any harm, and we’re 
sorry, and we like you, and we’re going to do bet- 
ter — ain’t we, fellows?” 

Every variety of affirmation came mumbling forth 
from the chorus. 

Then Tipp made a bow and limped away. He 
looked like a person suffering from almost total 
paralysis. 

“Boys,” said Mr. Auber, taking his hand out of 
his hair, “I’m astonished; I’m gratified; I’m 
touched. I wasn’t prepared for this. I’m afraid I 
don’t understand you at all. If things have gone 
wrong it must have been my own fault.” 

His lips quivered and his eyes grew moist. 

“I’m not able to say what I’d like to say, but I’m 
deeply, deeply grateful.” 

With these words he ran the watch through his 
hair, but not a boy laughed. 

“There’s going to be a dead-lock,” whispered Joe 
Whyte to Tom. 

“I’ll bet there won’t. Boys,” he added aloud, 
“three cheers for Mr. Auber.” 

All shrieked three times. 

“And three cheers for the Dodgers.” 


HARRY DEE. 


197 


The hurly-burly was renewed. 

“ Now, Mr. Auber, ” continued Tom, “ there’s half 
an hour left. Won’t you please tell us a story?” 

Mr. Auber’s face put on new terror. 

“I can’t tell a story. I’d be delighted to oblige 
you all, but I never told a story in all my life.” 

“Perhaps you never tried, sir.” 

“Go on, Mr. Auber,” implored Quip; “ if you get 
stuck we’ll help you out.” 

Mr. Auber put the watch in his pocket, to the 
great relief of many of us, who feared he would de- 
stroy it, ran his hands through his hair, and said: 

“ Once upon a time ” 

He never finished that first sentence, but began 
bravely on another. It was the first step that cost. 
Presently Mr. Auber was transformed. His eyes 
flashed and his hands moved in easy, striking ges- 
tures; and in a flow of English, strong, pure, simple, 
the like of which we had never heard, he poured 
forth a tale of heroism and adventure that set our 
eyes blazing, riveted us to our seats, brought the 
tears to our eyes, and convinced us that we were 
listening to the most eloquent story-teller we could 
hope to meet with. 

In the course of the narrative Mr. Middleton 
came in; but not six of the spell-bound audience, I 
dare say, observed his entrance. On he went, this 
wonderful Mr. Auber, till he had almost mesmerized 
his hearers. We suffered and loved and laughed 
with the hero, and when Mr. Auber came to an end 
none of us dared break the silence. Mr. Auber was 
gone before Tipp remarked: 

“Well, that was stunning.” 

“It’s the story of the ‘ Hidden Gem’ all over,” 


198 


HARRY DEE. 


said Tom; “and the only thing that I feel bad 
about is that Percy missed it. Mr. Auber was the 
hidden gem.” 

Mr. Auber’s trials were over. If any boy wished 
to give him trouble, he knew that he would have to 
answer to the Dodger crowd. Twice a week after 
supper during the winter did we assemble in the 
wash-room to hear our prefect’s narratives. He 
carried us away with him — and up. His stories 
were elevating; they filled us with longings to be 
noble, to be heroic, and it is no exaggeration to say 
that the ideals of many were revolutionized. 

For example : 

Tipp came to Tom one day and said: “Tom, 
will you do me a favor?” 

“If I can, certainly.” 

“Well, I want you to stop calling me ‘Dodger. ’ 
Get Percy and all your chums to do the same. You 
see, I used to be proud of that name; but now — 
eh — you understand ?” 

And Tipp became Tipp again and went home to 
help his father at the end of the year, as honest, as 
gay, and as good as though he had done all the 
noble things which Mr. Auber had narrated of his 
choicest heroes. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

IN WHICH IS GIVEN SOME ACCOUNT OF THE INTERCOL- 
LEGIA TE CONTEST AND IN WHICH WE BID OUR KIND 
PROFESSOR A LONG FAREWELL. 

“ QAY, I went to Holy Communion this morning,” 
O said Frank as he came upon me in the yard 
after breakfast on a certain beautiful spring morning. 


HARRY DEE. 


199 


“Why, Frank?” 

“ For the Ciceronians. Other fellows went too, 
and there were lots of prayers said for you.” 

“Thank you, Frank.” 

“I prayed for you to get second place of honor.” 

“ Indeed ?” 

“Yes. You see, Percy’s first on my list. He’s 
the best boy alive. Then Tom comes next. He’s 
to get first place of honor. Of course all the fellows 
thought in the beginning of the year that you’d 
come out ahead. But you’ve been so bothered about 
Mrs. Raynor that you’ve given Percy and Tom a 
chance to catch up. Of course you don’t expect 
me to like you as much as I do Percy and Tom!” 

Frank gazed at me in anxiety. 

I laughed. 

“I’m glad that you like me at all, Frank.” 

“I believe you are,” said our honest little man. 
“ I’ve known them longer than I’ve known you. But 
you and Harry Quip are third and equal, and you 
can bet on me for a friend, and I do hope you’ll get 
second place on the list of honor. You begin work- 
ing at it at nine o’clock this morning, don’t you?” 

“Yes, Frank.” 

“Well, I hope you’ll all do your best. You look 
heavy round the eyes, Harry. Didn’t you sleep 
well last night ?” 

“ Not as well as usual.” 

Indeed, I fear that few of our Ciceronian Society 
had slept well that night. We had been in a fever- 
ish state the preceding morning, and could not even 
take part in the sports of early spring with any 
relish. For my own part, my sleep was disturbed 
by unpleasant dreams. I held several interviews 


200 


ITAJ^RY DEE. 


with my ghostly uncle, at one of which he informed 
me that there would be no intercollegiate medal 
given out if I neglected to bring the murderer to 
justice. 

Well, the day had come. How we bent ourselves 
to our work! The theme, though not extremely 
difficult, was quite long. I don’t think that a single 
one of us Ciceronians so much as looked at each 
other during the four hours allowed us for our effort. 
What a groan of dismay went forth when Mr. Mid- 
dleton announced that but fifteen minutes were left! 
Then, indeed, was there much scurrying and scratch- 
ing of pens. 

Time was called at length, and each boy handed 
in his paper, signed, not with his own name, but with 
a nom de plume. His own name, with the correspond- 
ing nom de plume., he put into an envelope and deliv- 
ered to the vice-president of the college. The 
papers themselves were to be sent on to the donor of 
the medal, who was to put them in the hands of 
three competent and unprejudiced Latin scholars. 
These were to select ten papers in the order of 
their merit — the first in merit gaining the prize and 
the others taking the nine places of honor. The 
judges themselves, according to this plan, could 
have no more idea as to who were the leaders than 
the boys most interested. 

“Boys,” said Mr. Middleton when we were about 
to leave the class-room, “one remark. You all 
know how heartily I wish you success in this con- 
test. But permit me to congratulate you now for 
what is far better. I congratulate you, my dear 
boys, on what, as Johnson truly says, is more than 
success — on your deserving it. You have done your 


HARRY DEE. 


201 


duty. That is the essential; success is the acci- 
dent." 

Calm and logical as these words may appear in 
type, they were spoken with such feeling that when 
Mr. Middleton came to the words, “You have done 
your duty," there was a quiver in his voice, and we 
felt more than repaid for all our endeavors. 

“Much as I’d like to get the medal," said Tom, 
“ I’d rather get words like that from Mr. Middleton 
than any prize they can put up. What names did 
you take, boys?" 

“ I took ‘*S/V itur ad asfra^ ’ " said Percy. 

“And I ' Gaudeamus igitur juvenes dum sumus^' '' 
said Quip. 

“ Mine was ^ Parturiunt monies., ’ ’’ laughed Ruthers. 

'‘'‘"‘Miserere mei, Deus,' " said I. 

“That’s near mine," Richards exclaimed. “I 
took '‘In te Domine speravi. ’ " 

“And I went to Horace for mine," said Tom — 
"'Nil ardui mortalibus; coelum ipsum petimus,\din6. 
then I left out a word because I thought the exami- 
ners might find it between the lines of the whole 
theme." 

“Oh," said Percy, “I remember it: 'Coelum ipsu7n 
petimus stultitia. ’ " 

“Young gentlemen," cried Tom, “the Ciceronian 
Society is adjourned sine die. We’ll now go to bed 
early and get ready to play those Juniors of the 
large yard another game, and see whether we can’t 
do them up as we did last year." 

We got ready accordingly, played the Juniors, and 
were defeated pretty badly. Keenan and Donnel 
were against us. 

June came, and with it a renewal of that sweetest 


202 


HARRY DEE. 


of devotions, devotion to the Sacred Heart. We 
Ciceronians were all members of the league. In- 
deed, with the exception of myself, all of us were 
promoters. During the month I learned more fully 
the secret of Tom’s meekness and Percy’s sweetness 
of disposition. 

It was the night of closing exercises. We Cice- 
ronians were huddled together in the hall, and how 
we did growl at the music and speech-making and 
singing. When these things had come to an end 
we breathed a hearty thanks. 

“ There’s the president going up. Why doesn’t 
he hustle?” growled Tom. “ Oh, gracious! he’s got 
to dispose of those graduates first. Then we’ll get 
our innings.” 

Not one of us attended to the conferring of 
degrees or listened with the least bit of interest to 
the able lawyer who addressed the graduates for 
something over an hour. At length our “ innings” 
came. 

“The gold medal in the intercollegiate contest 
between six competing colleges has been awarded 
to a student of St. Maure’s — winner, Percy Wynn.” 

The applause which we Ciceronians broke into, 
ably supplemented as it was by the entire audience, 
would have startled the echoes of a muffled hall. 
Harry Quip and myself were necessitated to hold 
Tom Playfair down by main force, for he had 
jumped to his feet at the name and was about to 
disgrace us by dancing, a feat, by the way, which 
Frank Burdock, who, with his father, was in 
another part of the hall, did actually perform, to the 
smiling amusement of the astonished audience. 

“Places of honor,” continued the vice-president 


HARRY DEE. 


203 


when the applause, under which Percy was blushing 
violently, had subsided. “First — Thomas Playfair 
and Harry Dee, equal. Both of St. Maure’s. “ 

Tom and myself came very near blushing, and 
were happier than if we had won the medal. After 
all, we knew Percy was our superior, and had either 
of us outstripped him we would have felt that we 
were the favored children of luck. You may be 
sure that our fellow-members, as the applause con- 
tinued, shook our hands and pulled us about in an 
ecstasy of happiness. 

“Third place — John Ray, of a competing college.’' 

There was a silence. 

“Hurrah for John Ray, boys,” whispered Tom. 
“ Let’s applaud him.’’ 

The people followed where we led. 

“Fourth place — Harry Quip, of St. Maure’s. ” 

“Caesar!” ejaculated Harry, his merry face taking 
on the hue of an angry sunset and retaining its color 
long after the clapping of hands had subsided. 

“ Fifth place — John Cynic, of a competing college. 

“Sixth place — John Robertson, of a competing 
college. 

“Seventh — Joseph Whyte, of St. Maure’s. 

“ Eighth — Charles Seebert, of a competiijg college. 

“Ninth — Charles Richards, of St. Maure’s.” 

Each of us named for a place of honor was pre- 
sented by the president with a book, and as the audi- 
ence realized that we, the successful competitors, 
were, with the exception of Richards, small boys 
in knickerbockers, they fairly went wild. Some 
among them must have got a hint of this magnifi- 
cent victory for St. Maure’s, for bouquets came flying 
upon the stage. Nothing could be seen of Percy 


204 


HARRY DEE. 


presently but his high shoes, his silk stockings, and 
his eyes and forehead. Percy’s ten sisters were in 
attendance, and I have a strong suspicion that each 
one sent him a bouquet. Our hero of the hour, as 
the flowers still came, was in quite a predicament, 
when, to his relief. Master Frank Burdock came 
bounding upon the stage, his eyes flashing with 
excitement. 

‘‘I’ll help you, Percy,” he piped; “let them come 
on with their baskets. The biggest is the one I 
sent.” And amid fresh applause Master Frank 
relieved Percy of a few of his bouquets and escorted 
his friend off the stage. Tom also was laden with 
flowers, for which I’m quite certain Percy’s sisters 
were largely responsible. Nor were the rest of us 
forgotten. We could have combined that night and 
set up a fine florist’s establishment. 

None of us took interest in what followed. We 
soon stole out of the hall and shook each other’s 
hands over and over. Willie Ruthers had received 
no mention, but, as he naively remarked, “ We Hu- 
manities boys don’t want the earth. Some of us had 
to fall through. But next year see if I’m not on.” 

Next day we went in a body to bid Mr. Middle- 
ton farewell. Our beloved professor was to leave 
us. His college work, for some years at least, was 
over. 

“Aha!” he exclaimed gayly as we entered his 
room, “ here are my little Ciceronians. But what’s 
the use of my congratulating you on your success? 
The great thing is that you’ve deserved it.” 

He shook each of us warmly by the hand, never- 
theless, and how sweetly, kindly did those gentle 
eyes of his shine upon us. 


HARRY DEE. 205 

“Mr. Middleton,” said Percy, “you’re going 
away ?* 

“Yes; but after what happened last night I can 
leave the field of my college labors saying with holy 
Simeon, '"Nunc dimittis servum tuum^ Doniinein pace. ’ ” 

“Well, Mr. Middleton,” continued Percy gravely, 
“we’ve come to bid you good-by. All of us have 
been under you for several years, all of us long 
enough to love you. You have taught us to love our 
books, to love our religion, to love one another, 
and in teaching us all this to love you. Should 
we never meet again, Mr. Middleton,” here Percy’s 
voice almost broke and all of us cleared our throats, 
“ you may be sure that we shall not forget you. Day 
and night our prayers shall rise to God that He 
may bless you and prosper you in all your ways; 
and should any of us go wrong for a time, should 
we forget your kind words, should we give up the 
pious practices you have taught us by example more 
than word, should we become such that we would 
not wish to meet you — O Mr. Middleton! I can’t 
go on!” 

And we all broke down with Percy. That last 
artless touch, more powerful than his prepared speech, 
overmastered all of us. And the brave, strong, 
earnest man we all loved so well turned his face 
from us, bent his head, and placed his hand upon his 
brow. 

“ God bless you, my dear boys. Good-by.” 

With that benediction upon us we left him, and 
none of us spoke till we had reached our yard. 

There we found Donnel and Keenan awaiting us 
and looking unusually grave. “Good-by, boys,” 
they said; “we’re going for good.” 


2o6 


HARRY DEE. 


“What! where?” General astonishment. 

“John’s going off to the seminary at Baltimore, 
and I’m going to the Novitiate to try and become 
a Jesuit. ” 

There was a great deal of hand shaking, though 
we spoke softly — parting is ever a sorrow, no matter 
how sweet. We had always looked up to George 
and John as model boys and leaders. None of us 
was surprised at the step they were about to take ; 
some of us envied them. For all this, our parting 
was sad. 

And so we broke up for the vacation. Changes 
were marking the inexorable flight of time. When 
we returned we missed three whom we had loved 
from their accustomed places, and we realized then 
that these changes, sad as they are, must go on year 
after year, till upon each of us comes the great 
change beyond which there is no shadow of vicissi- 
tude, no parting, but everlasting peace and death- 
less reunion. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

IN WHICH ROSE SCARBOROUGH RENEWS OUR ACQUAINT- 
ANCE AND SINGS US SEVERAL ASTONISHING SONGS. 

H arry quip, Percy, Frank, Tom, and myself 
took our outing beside the pretty lake in 
Wisconsin, where we renewed our acquaintance 
with Mr. Scarborough and his graceless son. Rose 
renewed our acquaintance herself. She met us at 
the depot, all smiles and courtesies. 

“Hallo, little girl!” called Tom. 

“Hallo, sir.” 


HARRY DEE. 


207 


“Can you sing ‘Jesus, Saviour of my soul’ yet, 
little girl ?’’ 

“ Oh, yes, sir; and I know ten, eleven, twelve new 
tunes. How do you do, Frank Burdock ? You didn’t 
write to me, after all your promises.” 

Poor Frank blushed scarlet, Harry Quip grinned, 
while Tom choked and coughed and laughed till the 
tears ran down his face. Frank scowled on each of 
us in turn, but relented on catching Percy’s eye. 

The enfante terrible did not exactly perceive in what 
she had been witty, but taking it for granted that 
there were sufficient reasons for laughing, she joined 
us in our merriment. She continued: 

“ Say, Percy, I know two of your sisfers. They 
go to the Sacred Heart Convent at Clifton, near 
Cincinnati. That’s where I go to school now; and 
I’m going to be a Catholic next year; and that’s 
where I learned to sing twelve new tunes, and I’m 
going to sing them all for Tom Playfair, because he 
likes my singing and I like him. [Here she gave 
Tom an ingenuous look, this enfante terrible., which 
sent Percy into a musical laugh and a flush of color 
upon Mr. Tom’s cheek.] Oh, yes! I was talking 
about your sisters. They’re the sweetest, nicest 
girls! Oh! howl love them. They’re nicer than 
any girls I ever met — as nice and kind and gentle as 
you are, Percy.” 

Thereupon we all departed incontinently, leaving 
the artless miss not a little astonished at our strange 
conduct. 

She bore us no ill-will, however, for she came 
over of set purpose that evening to sing, for Tom’s 
special behoof, “Jesus, Lover of my soul.” Very 
vividly as her sweet treble broke so gently upon our 


208 


HARRY DEE. 


ears did we recall the scene upon the lake. I turned 
my head aside till the little one had finished, and 
thought I heard a sob from Percy, but could not trust 
myself to look around. 

“Your voice is nicer than ever, little girl.” 

“Is it? I’ll sing you another song, Tom. ” There- 
upon the delighted vocalist gave us a very pretty 
“ Ave Maris Stella. ” 

We all applauded. 

“ Did you like that ?” she asked, her eyes dancing. 

“We did, little girl.” 

“Then here’s another for you, Percy,” and to our 
amazement and Percy’s total discomfiture she sang 
a very tuneful German song, beginning “ How can I 
leave thee?” but when she came to the words, “I 
would sooner life than thee resign,” Tom held up 
his hand. 

“Desist, little girl, desist!” 

“I beg your pardon, sir.” 

“You see, little girl,” went on Tom gravely, 
“we’ve got to draw the line somewhere.” 

“What do you want to draw a line for?” said 
this very ingenuous little one. 

“All the way around that song, little girl. It’s 
too personal. This isn’t leap-year.” 

“Isn’t it?” Rose was very much puzzled. 

“No — you’ll have to wait two years more at least 
before you can sing that song for Percy.” 

“Oh! but I’ve got another song for Frank Bur- 
dock.” 

“What’s it about, little girl?” 

“It begins, ‘Believe me, of all these endearing 
young charms. ’ ” 

Even Tom could keep his countenance no longer. 


HARRY DEE, 


209 


"You don’t mean to say, little girl, that the nuns 
coached you up in these songs?” 

“Oh, no, sir. I learned them all by myself.” 

“ You did! But they’re love-songs.” 

Rose looked at him very composedly. 

“I don’t care! I’m not going to be a nun.” 

Whereupon Tom gave up. 

From that day Miss Rose became a frequent visi- 
tor. She had a supreme disregard for conventional- 
ities and conducted herself in a way that was cer- 
tainly unique. 

Vacation passed all too quickly. During these 
summer months I received, through my father, letters 
from the detective bureau, each and every one of 
them announcing a fresh clew. My father got weary 
of this at last and wrote: 

Dear Mr. Tinker: — I am completely discouraged. If you 
announce any more clews I shall resign all hope of ever meeting 
Mrs. Raynor in this world. Tell your sleepless detectives to 
take a little needful repose. 

Yours sincerely, 

John Dee. 

In answer to which he received very promptly a 
heavy bill for services rendered. Each announce- 
ment of a clew cost a good round sum of money. 

My father inclosed the full amount by return mail, 
and took occasion to inform the indefatigable 
Tinker that he would try to worry along without 
the services of his insomnia-ridden bureau, and that, 
were it necessary, he would be willing to pay him a 
certain yearly allowance to induce him and his men 
not to unsteady their intellects on the looking up of 
labyrinthine clews. 

14 


210 


HARRY DEE, 


So it seemed to us we were done with clews. As 
the sequel, to which I now hasten, will show, we 
were mistaken. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


IN WHICH A STRANGE REVELA TION THROWS NEW LIGHT 
ON THE MYSTERY OF MY UNCLE'S DEA TH. 



OME of the happiest periods in our lives become 


\J insufferably dull when we undertake to render 
an account of them. The following year at St. 
Maure’s was for us poets a golden year. Much as 
we had loved our studies in the lower classes, we 
now threw ourselves into them with renewed ardor. 
For we were at an age when sentiment, with its ver- 
nal freshness, awakes in the youthful heart, and in a 
class where all the studies — be it of Latin, Greek, or 
English — are directed toward stimulating sentiment, 
developing it in some directions, pruning it in 
others, rendering it, in short, a noble instrument 
for appreciating all that is highest and holiest in hu- 
man life, thought, and endeavor. 

It is hardly necessary to state that all of us poets 
had exchanged our knickerbockers for trousers, and 
walked about with the certain step of man — so, at 
least, we thought. 

Percy was the real poet of our class. His deli- 
cate imagination was a storehouse of fancies, sweet, 
pure, charming — he had but to touch a seemingly 
dry idea and it burst into blossoms of beauty. 

Tom was not so successful in poetry proper, but 
in English prose, for strong, vigorous thought and 
expression he led all. In Latin, too, he advanced 


HARRY DEE. 


211 


rapidly and soon took the lead of Percy, who, it 
must be confessed, relaxed a trifle in the pursuit of 
the classics that he might give more time to the 
muse. Frank Burdock remained in the small yard, 
not a little to his disgust. He was growing fast, 
however, and gave promise of joining us the follow- 
ing year. Whenever he met me he invariably asked 
in a whisper: 

“Say, Harry, don’t you think I’m growing?” and 
he would draw himself up and look me fixedly in 
the eye. 

It was a bright, cool Thursday morning toward the 
end of May. Percy, Tom, and myself were out for 
a long walk. We had obtained permission from 
the president of the college to visit the village of 
Sykesville, six miles to the east of us. Our plan was 
to make it by half-past nine, procure lunch there, 
depart at ten, and reach the college by noon-time. 

“ Harry,” remarked Tom, after a pause which had 
succeeded a desultory conversation, “ it’s strange 
that you’ve got no news lately about what your law- 
yer is doing.” 

“That reminds me,” I answered; “my father sent 
me a letter of his yesterday. The lawyer holds out 
little hope. He says that our finding Mrs. Raynor is 
almost a matter dependent upon chance. He thinks 
that in all probability she is going under an alias. 
Then he adds: ‘From the fact that she lived with 
you on intimate terms for several years without 
giving any clew to her former life up to the very 
night of the murder, I infer that she is a very 
extraordinary woman. A woman or even a man 
of such reticence is a hard subject to overreach. ’ ” 

“ He’s quite a different character from the invalu- 


212 


HARRY DEE. 


able Tinker,” said Tom, “I think he’s quite right. 
Chance is your hope, and yet I’ll wager my last poem 
that you’ll meet her yet.” 

“Isn’t it sad,” said Percy, in his sweet, winning 
way, “ to think that this woman, whom you looked 
upon in the sacred relation of mother, should turn 
out to be a criminal. It’s cruel! I don’t want to 
believe it.” 

“Nor I, Percy; but I fear I must. God knows I 
loved her as a mother, and she loved me. I’m cer- 
tain of it. She’d have laid down her life for me, 
I once thought.” 

“It looks strongly against her,” said Tom. “But. 
the great mystery is to reconcile her love and affec- 
tion for Harry with the cruel way in which she took 
her revenge. Children don’t love people like that. 
Innocence is the greatest detective in the world.” 

“ Well, for the present it is a mystery,” said Percy. 
“Who knows when it may be cleared up? ‘It is the 
unexpected that always happens.’ ” 

We entered Sykesville presently, soon found a 
bakery and confectionery, where, taking seats in a 
back room, screened from the front part of the store 
by heavy curtains, we ordered our lunch of a smiling 
young man with heavy eyes, who looked as though 
he had gone to bed very late and hadn’t succeeded 
in sleeping well even then. 

“Bring in your shop,” said Tom. 

“Shop! shop!” echoed the heavy-eyed. “Do you 
mean Scotch cakes?” 

“ Exactly. Scotch cakes for three and cream 
cakes and baker’s toast and ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ And lemonade.” 


HARRY DEE. 213 

“All right, sir.” And the young man hastened 
off. 

If the three of us had put off the small boy we had 
not put off his appetite. We kept the young man 
busy, while Tom worried him into the lowest depths 
of stupidity by his absurd remarks. 

In the midst of an amusing story Tom stopped 
short. 

“What in the world’s the matter, Harry?” he 
exclaimed as I sprang from my seat and peered 
through the curtain; for a strangely familiar voice 
had stirred the roots of my hair. I looked through 
the curtain and a dizziness came upon me. 

“Catch him, Percy — he’s falling.” 

For I staggered, the wheels of life stood still, and 
I would have fallen to the floor had not Percy caught 
me and restored me to my chair. 

“Here, drink this,” said Tom, putting a glass of 
water to my lips. “Hallo, there!” he added in a 
louder voice. “Bring in some wine, quick!” 

Startled by his tone, the shopman came hastening 
in with a bottle of wine. Tom very calmly knocked 
the neck off the bottle and filled me a glass. As this 
was a prohibition town, the intelligent reader will 
understand how it was that wine was on sale in a 
bakery. 

“What is it, Harry?” inquired Tom as I showed 
signs of coming to. 

“I just saw Mrs. Raynor. She’s in this shop 
now.” 

Tom bounded to the curtain and peeped cautiously 
through the opening. He saw standing at the coun- 
ter a woman of middle age, poor but neat in dress, 
with a refined face, on which lines of suffering and. 


214 


HARRY DEE. 


it may be, of privation had written the pathos of 
many years. She had just bought a loaf of bread 
and was turning to go out. 

“Harry,” he said, “you just stay where you are. 
I’ll not speak to her at all. But leave everything 
to me.” Saying which, he drew the curtains aside 
and hurried away. 

Percy and I were very sober. We knew that a 
great crisis in my life was come. Terrible fancies 
stared me in the face and conflicting emotions 
fought strong within me. At sight of that familiar 
countenance all my former filial affection returned. 
Oh, it was cruel ! She had been a mother to me, 
and now it might become my duty to hand her over 
to the law. Percy perceived my distress. 

“ God help you, my dear friend,” he said, his blue 
eyes swimming. “Be brave and strong; trust in 
Him.” 

I bowed my head upon the table and wept and 
prayed. 

Tom came in at length, his face softened with 
pity. 

“ I’ve got her house, Harry. Of course you’ll see 
her alone first ?” 

“ Of course.” 

“Well, we’ll be near, so as if anything happens to 
help you.” 

“O Tom! if what we dread most proves to be 
true, what shall I do? It is my certain duty to have 
her put in custody.” 

“ Go and see her,” said Tom. “ If the worst does 
come, old boy, Percy and I will see to the unpleas- 
ant parts.” 

We left the bakery together, quite different from 


HARRY DEE. 215 

the merry, laughing, happy-eyed boys who had en- 
tered. 

Walking down the length of the street and turn- 
ing to our left, we presently found ourselves before 
a tiny cottage overgrown with creeping plants and 
standing back in a small, tastily-arranged garden. 

“That’s the house,” said Tom. “Go in, Harry, 
and be a man.” 

“God bless you!” added Percy. 

Summoning all my courage, I walked up to the 
cottage. A small window gave me a view of the 
interior before I reached the door. I paused and 
looked in. Oh! what a trial it was to me — what 
an agony even to think of going one step farther. 
At a sewing-machine sat Mrs. Raynor, her face, fur- 
rowed though it was, calm and serene. Beside her 
was a boy of ten or eleven, dark-eyed, black-haired, 
neatly but poorly clad, working at a lathe. His 
beautiful face was lighted with an expression of joy. 
Near them and playing upon the floor was a bright 
little girl of six or seven. As I stood looking in 
upon the scene, the boy turned proudly and held up 
his work to Mrs. Raynor. She smiled approvingly, 
then bent over and kissed his cheek. Whereupon 
the little girl, with the socialistic spirit common to 
children, came running over to claim her share, too. 

“I’m learning fast, mamma,” said the boy. “In 
a few weeks I’ll be able to do two hours’ good work 
every day — you’ve promised me, you know — and 
then you’re going to get a rest, mamma. And then 
you’ll get strong and well — and sis and I will be 
so happy!” 

When Enoch Arden gazed upon the happy house- 
hold whereof his own lawful wife was the light, he 


2i6 


HARRY DEE. 


crept away like a guilty thing, dug his hands into 
the earth, and prayed! Not unlike his position was 
my own. Should I enter and destroy this sacred 
home-life? God knows I would have departed on 
the moment had I but felt certain that I knew all, 
had I felt certain that Mrs. Raynor had done the 
deed. Yes, I would have departed even should I be 
haunted from that day to the day of my death by 
my uncle’s ghost. But the one element of uncer- 
tainty — the mystery; Tom’s words so often repeated 
urging me to see Mrs. Raynor; the sense of duty — 
all conspired to move me on. 

And so, with the merry laugh of the children ring- 
ing in my ears, “ like sweet bells jangled out of 
tune,” I knocked. 

“ Come in!” 

I threw the door open and stood gazing at my 
former attendant, who on the instant had arisen, 
putting aside her sewing as she did so. 

The eyes I knew so well — had they not met mine 
a thousand times in love and tenderness? — looked at 
me inquiringly, then there was a sudden start, then 
a cry, and she was weeping with joy upon my 
bosom. 

“My own dear Harry!” she sobbed. 

I was unmanned for a moment. But with a 
wrench at my heart I drew myself away and looked 
meaningly at the children. 

She took my thought at once. Her face was very 
pale as she turned to the little ones and said: 

“ My dears, go out. I shall call you in a few 
minutes.” 

How hateful I appeared in my own eyes as they 
each kissed their mamma an affectionate farewell. 


HARRY DEE. 


217 


When they had left the room I cleared my throat 
and began my story. I told my nurse of my ter- 
rible awakening on Christmas morning, of the scene 
in my uncle’s room, of my visit with Tom Playfair 
to the haunted house, and of the dream ghost that 
had seemed so real. 

“And oh! Mrs. Raynor,” I concluded, “black as 
stands the evidence against you, for God’s sake 
give me your word that you are innocent ! I will be- 
lieve you now as I did when, a little child, I called 
you mother.” 

“Harry, my own dear boy, in God’s name I 
assure you that I am innocent.” 

I gave a gasp of joy. A great gloom lifted from 
my heart, and I would have thrown my arms about 
my nurse’s neck had not a peculiar quivering of her 
lips, a growing paleness in her face, warned me that 
she had left something untold. 

“Who was it?” I cried. “ You know more !” 

“ Harry — God help you, my dear boy — you killed 
your uncle yourself!” 

The room swam; my brain reeled; Mrs. Raynor 
in a moment helped me to a chair. 

“ Listen!” she said. “ Let us recall together what 
went before that dreadful night. I knew when we 
took the train that sad Christmas eve that I was to 
face the only man I had ever had reason to hate. I 
had never seen him nor he me. I counted on saying 
nothing when in his presence, but the very moment 
we stood before him all my pent-up wrongs came 
thronging upon my memory. I failed to restrain 
myself, and you remember well the scene that ensued 
between me and your uncle. Then you remember 
how, when at eight o’clock we went to your bed- 


2i8 


HARRY DEE. 


room, I told you all the sad story of my life — of my 
noble husband, of his death of a broken heart. You 
in your sweet love mingled your tears with mine. 
You were angry at your uncle, and at ten o’clock, 
when you fell asleep, you left me meditating on the 
terrible wrongs James Dee had done my baby chil- 
dren. I had not told you of them, Harry. You saw 
them just now. I had left them in charge of an aunt 
under their real name, for Raynor was not my mar- 
ried, but my family name. Now, please to remem- 
ber that when you went to sleep at ten you left me 
sitting beside you, worn out with a day’s journey — 
as you know I did not sleep on the cars — and still 
more worn from the terrible emotions that had 
shaken my soul. For an hour or more my thoughts 
were busy with the past — vividly busy. Then came 
a sort of heavy feeling; sleep was coming upon me. 
I arose and paced the room; but walk as I might, 
sleep was struggling with me and I detected my- 
self staggering as I moved up and down. But not- 
withstanding all that, I would have fought it off, 
I think, had not a sudden weakness come upon me. 
I felt that I was about to faint; I made over to the 
bed and tried to call you, but fell to the floor, mid- 
way in the room, unconscious. It was some time 
before I recovered at all, and even then I continued 
to lie half-conscious upon the floor. During this 
period, which lasted, I imagine, fifteen or twenty 
minutes, I remembered, in a sort of horrid nightmare, 
that I was in the house of an enemy. Then I heard, 
or thought I heard, the sound of someone walking on 
tiptoe, and it occurred to me that perhaps your 
uncle was coming to kill me. I tried to move and 
failed; the nightmare became more and more vivid; 


HARRY DEE. 


219 


the footfalls, slow, stealthy, came nearer. Oh, the 
horror of that dream!” 

Mrs. Raynor paused and wiped her brow. 

‘‘At last I burst the spell upon me and rose to 
my feet in a state of terror you can hardly imagine. 
I stood for a moment listening to catch those 
ominous footfalls. But I heard nothing. Then I 
turned to your bed. It was empty. Oh! my dear 
Harry, you were gone. For a moment I stood para- 
lyzed with fright ! Here you were alone, in a strange 
house, walking in your sleep. I shivered as it 
occurred to me that you might have fallen out of 
some window! Even as I stood I heard without the 
sound of a light footstep — not like the heavy foot- 
step I had heard or thought I heard in my night- 
mare. That was the sound of a man or woman’s 
tread on tiptoe; this was the sound of a child’s 
bare feet. As I caught your tread, Harry, I took up 
the lamp and hastened to the hallway. How I 
thanked God as I saw you coming along quietly, 
easily, from the further end of the hall. I hastened 
to meet you. But as I got near, imagine my feelings 
when I saw that your night-shirt was dabbled with 
blood. It was an awful sight! You with your inno- 
cent face and eyes wide open — yet seeing nothing — 
walking along unconscious of those awful stains. 
I kept beside you and followed you to your room, 
where you walked straight to your bed and got into 
it. Then, lamp in hand, I hurried down the cor- 
ridor to the very end, where I saw an open door. I 
entered trembling, and holding the lamp up gazed 
around. Then, my dear boy, I saw what you saw 
the next morning — your uncle cold in death.” 


220 


DEE, 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

IN WHICH MRS. RA YNOR CONTINUES HER STRANGE STORY 
AND INTRODUCES ME TO TWO CHARMING LITTLE ONES, 
WHO ENTERTAIN ME WITH A NOVEL FAIRY-TALE. 

M rs. RAYNOR paused for a moment and wiped 
her eyes. 

“ Then,” she resumed, “ it flashed upon me that I, 
and I alone, was to blame for this frightful tragedy, 
since I had sent you to sleep with sentiments of 
horror and disgust toward your uncle. Oh, how I 
blamed myself for my harsh words against that poor 
dead form! I came near and examined your uncle 
more closely. The knife had reached his heart. 
He was dead. Then I formed my plans in an instant. 
If any one were guilty of his blood it was I. I 
remembered, my dear child, that you were delicate 
and sensitive. I feared that should you learn how 
you had killed your uncle you would be made mis- 
erable for life. And then I thought of all the quali- 
ties in you which had won my love. I imagined the 
future of happiness which should be yours by right, 
and I knew it would all be blighted did you come 
to know at that tender age what you had so inno- 
cently done. As for sacrificing my own reputation, 
that weighed little. I was a stranger among 
strangers and had little to gain, nothing to lose. 
But when I thought of you, my dear boy, I felt the 
sacrifice I was making. If I could have let you 
know that I was not guilty of the crime, my course 
would have cost me nothing. But that was out of 
the question. The only feasible way for me to 
throw a mystery about the murder which would 


HARRY DEE. 


221 


make it fairly impossible for any one to find out 
that you had done it was to throw all the suspicion 
on myself. I bathed one of my gloves — my right- 
hand glove — in your uncle’s blood; then hurried 
back to your room. I threw the glove on the floor 
after first drawing it across my chair by your bed- 
side. Then I turned to take my last look upon you. 
Your little arm was stretched over the coverlet, your 
hand red with blood. You were sleeping calmly, 
and even as I gazed down upon your face your lips 
quivered into a smile, and then, Harry, though I had 
promised myself not to bid you farewell, I bent 
down and kissed you and threw my arms about you 
in all the fond agony of a last embrace. And — O 
my God! shall I ever forget it? — without opening 
your eyes you threw your little arms about me 
and softly whispered ‘mamma.’ Then I tore myself 
away, as I thought, forever.” 

As the noble woman stopped, overcome by her 
emotions, I arose and softly kissed her. 

“ But I did not make the sacrifice a perfect one, my 
own dear boy. I was resolved that when my body 
lay in the ground you, at least, should have tender 
m.emories of your nurse. So after making good my 
escape I wrote out a full account of what had hap- 
pened. It was to be delivered to you at my death, 
and you, you alone were to know the secret. You 
were to read it and destroy it, and it has been the 
one comfort of my life that when I was dead and 
gone you would think kindly and tenderly of your 
unhappy nurse.” 

She paused for a moment. 

“Of course I foresaw that, acting as I did, I would 
throw a shadow on your life. I knew that you loved 


222 


HARRY DEE. 


me and I knew that the shock to your sweet confi- 
dence in me would be terrible. But what else could 
I do? I had little time to think. It was narrowed 
down to a question between two evils. Often and 
often have I since pondered over the matter. Some- 
times it has seemed to me that my conduct was 
wrong. But God knows that I tried to do what 
seemed to be for the best. My judgment may have 
been wrong, but at the time I thought it was the 
best I could form. I acted, perhaps, on impulse, but 
if I sinned I trust God has long since forgiven me. 
And indeed I feel quite sure that had I let you know 
what you had done when you were so weak and 
sickly, you would not be the strong, manly boy, 
dear Harry, that you now are.” 

I pass over in silence the ensuing few minutes. 
My brain was in a whirl. Love, gratitude, the shock 
of this revelation, all conspired to unnerve me. I 
heard the light prattle of the children as they drew 
near the door and then I burst into a fit of weeping. 

Mrs. Raynor hurried to the door and sent them 
away and devoted herself to soothing me. Slowly 
I became calmer, until, after the lapse of an hour, I 
was exteriorly, at least, something like my old self. 
Then Mrs. Raynor called in the little ones. 

At the sound of her voice the dark, handsome boy 
— a little prince in patches — and the bright little 
girl — a fairy princess who had escaped not only from 
the dragon-guarded castle, but even out of the pages 
of the story-book into real life — came dancing in. 

“ Harold and Louise, this is your mamma’s best 
friend, Harry Dee.” 

“Your brother, your true brother, my little ones,” 
I added. “Remember, Mrs. Dome,” I continued 


HARRY DEE, 


223 


as I caught the willing hands of brother and, sister 
and drew them both to my side, “ you have prom- 
ised to regard me as your son. Harold and Louise 
are to be my brother and my sister.” 

As I spoke the children gazed up earnestly into 
my face, and I am glad to say that their pretty 
eyes expressed at once full confidence in their new 
friend. 

“Brother Harry,” began the boy, “why are your 
eyes so red, and what makes your lip tremble so? 
And you are so pale. Did you hear mamma call me 
Harold? That’s my real name, but I don’t remem- 
ber that she ever called me Harold before. She 
used to call me Harry.” 

“ Mamma always calls me Louise,” said the little 
princess, who had climbed upon my knee and was 
playing with my watch-guard. “Poor mamma! she 
doesn’t have a bit of fun; mamma’s working all the 
time with big needles. I hate needles.” 

“ I know how to use needles,” put in Harold. “ I 
just kept on teasing mamma till she let me try them 
now and then. I’m not ashamed to sew, even if 
girls do it mostly. You see, brother Harry, I’m the 
man of the family; and it isn’t right for mamma to 
do all the work, and Louise is too young to do any- 
thing yet.” 

“I’m five,” said Louise, “and I’ll be six in free 
months; and I want a doll, a new doll for my birf- 
day. Oh, brother Harry, don’t you know any nice 
fairy-stories?” 

“Not nice enough to tell to you and Harold,” I 
answered with a smile. 

“I know a beautiful one.” 

Mrs. Dome had gone over to the window and was 


224 


HARRY DEE. 


looking out. She was still under the influence of 
strong feelings. Ah! how little had I dreamed, 
during those years of separation, of the strength and 
intensity of the love which had nerved on that noble 
woman in her lonely path of sacrifice. 

“Let’s hear it, Louise.” 

“ It’s a real fairy-story, too.” 

“So much the better,” I answered absently, for my 
thoughts were absorbed in memories despite the 
bright little faces turned so eagerly up to mine. 

“Yes,” Harold broke in, “but it hasn’t any fairy 
in it.” 

“Now, Harold,” said Louise, raising an admoni- 
tory finger, “that isn’t fair; you mustn’t let brother 
Harry know what’s going to happen till it’s all hap- 
pened.” 

“All right,” said Harold, laughing. “Go ahead, 
Louise.” 

“Once upon a time,” began the little one, “there 
was a beautiful prince; and he didn’t have any sis- 
ter. And he was the nicest prince — oh! he was so 
good and pleasant and kind — nicer than Harold!” 

“Oh! a heap nicer,” said Harold enthusiastically.. 

“And all the people loved him, but he didn’t 
have no mamma either.” 

“No?” I said, for Louise had looked at me very 
earnestly and paused in her story. 

“ No. He was all alone ’cept his father, who was 
awful rich and had gold and silver and fine horses. 
Now, this nice prince used to have beautiful 
pitchers.” 

“Visions,” put in Harold. 

“Yes; beautiful visions after dark; and then he’d 
get up and walk in his sleep.” 


HARRY DEE. 


225 


“With his eyes wide open,” broke in Harold. 

“ Like this,” said Louise, jumping to the floor, 
opening her eyes very wide, and walking about. 
“And so,” she continued, “his father put out a 
notice ” 

“Issued a proclamation,” interrupted the brother. 

“Yes; issued a pockermation that he wanted a 
lady to play mamma to the beautiful prince. What’s 
the matter, brother Harry? Your face is red all 
over.” 

“Go on. I’m interested.” Indeed, this fairy- 
story had at length succeeded in riveting my atten- 
tion. 

“ And the king said that the lady should always 
watch by the side of the beautiful prince and never 
go to sleep.” 

“ Not even for a minute,” added the boy. 

“And the king had heard from a magician that if 
ever the lady went to sleep somefin terrible would 
happen to Prince Harry. And so the king said that 
if ever the lady went asleep he would cut her head 
off with an axe. Now, there was one lady who offered 
to take care of the little prince, and she loved him 
ever , so much because he was so beautiful and so 
good. And she watched over Prince Harry for 
many years wivout going to sleep. Now, the young 
prince had an uncle who was very rich, and the 
uncle asked the young prince to come and see him. 
He and the lady went. The lady was always sad, 
because she had two beautiful children that she loved 
and she never saw them. Wasn’t that too bad?” 

“That was very hard,” I said softly. Mrs. Dome 
was still standing at the window with her face 
against the pane. 

15 


226 


HARRY DEE. 


“ And the very night that Prince Harry arrived at 
his uncle’s castle — it was such a gloomy castle — the 
lady fell asleep in a faint.” 

“The first time it ever happened,” said Harold. 

“And when she woke up the little prince’s bed 
was empty. Somefin awful had happened. Guess, 
brother Harry.” 

“ Maybe the prince fell from a window,” I sug- 
gested. 

“Guess again,” cried Louise in delight. 

“ Or maybe he was killed by his uncle.” 

“You’re getting hotter,” put in Harold. 

“Harold, don’t tell. Do you give it up?” 

“I do.” 

“Well,” here Louise became very solemn, “the 
little prince killed his uncle wivout knowing it.” 

“Yes,” said Harold; “he stabbed his uncle with 
a dagger.” 

“Oh!” said I, “how bad he must have felt when 
he found out what he had done.” 

“Ah! but he didn’t find out. The lady made it 
look as if she had killed the uncle and ran away.” 

“ She was a good lady, wasn’t she?” I said. 

“Ah! mamma — there!” cried Harold, while Louise 
clapped her hands. “ Didn’t I say she was good ? 
She wanted the prince to live happy, and how could 
he live happy if he knew he had killed his uncle?” 

“And since then,” continued Louise, “the prince 
has been very happy and the lady has been very 
poor.” 

“ Is that all ?” I inquired, for Louise looked at 
me in such a way as to force this question. 

“No,” cried Louise, “the story isn’t over yet. 
Some day there’s going to come a pretty fairy to tell 


HARRY DEE. 


227 


the prince that the lady didn’t kill his uncle; and 
then the prince will come and see the lady, and he’ll 
take the lady’s little girl for his sister and the lady’s 
little boy for his brother, and then they’ll all live 
happily together. There; that’s all.” 

“Could we play that story?” I inquired. 

“Oh, yes; let’s play it.” 

“Very good. Louise, you be the little girl, and 
Harold, you be the little boy, and your mamma will 
be the lady.” 

“Oh, how nice!” cried Louise. “And you’ll be 
the prince.” 

“But I don’t look like a prince.” 

“Yes, you do,” said Louise. 

“ He is the prince, my darlings,” said Mrs. Raynor, 
“ and you are now his brother and sister. The story 
has all come true except the fairy part. Instead 
of a fairy, some beauteous angel of the great God 
has sent him hither.” 

“It’s nicer than a fairy-story,” cried Louise. 
“Angels are nicer than fairies.” 

And the two little ones grew very happy, though 
they did not realize till long afterward that their 
pretty story had actually come true. 

“ But gracious me!” I suddenly exclaimed, “Here 
I’ve been sitting nearly two hours, and two of the 
best boys in the world waiting for me down the 
street.” 

Harold jumped to his feet. 

“I’ll get ’em/’ he exclaimed, rushing to the door. 
There he paused. “But how’ll I know who they 
are, brother Harry ?” 

“ In the first place both are handsome and look 
like college boys, In the second place, the larger, 


228 


HARRY DEE. 


who has blue eyes and golden hair, will smile at 
you if you catch his eye, and the other, who is 
darker and jolly-looking, will be pretty sure to say 
something.” 

Very shortly in danced Harold, pulling Tom 
Playfair by the hand and evidently upon very 
intimate terms with that young man. 

“Oh, brother Harry,” he said, “it was just the 
way you told me. The tall one smiled and this one 
winked at me this way ” 

Here Harold put up his hand, shut one eye with 
it, and continued : 

“Then he said, ‘How de do, little boy?’ and I 
knew him.” 

“Thank God! it’s all right,” I whispered to Tom 
and Percy as I led them over and introduced them 
to that good mother. 

“ Say, little boy,” said Tom, “ do you like candy ?” 

“Oh, don’t I!” 

“I do, too,” cried Louise with much interest. 

“Well, here, go and buy up the baker shop; and 
save a piece for me, won’t you — you and Louise?” 

“ Thank you. Yes, sir.” 

“I’ll save you all I don’t want to eat — and more, 
a great deal more,” said Louise impressively. 

Then there was a scampering of little feet; and as 
they left the feeling of bewilderment and exhaus- 
tion again came upon me. I could not trust myself 
to speak and, by a sign which Mrs. Dome interpreted 
aright, begged her to tell the story to my friends. 

Tom and Percy listened very attentively. Percy 
was shocked on hearing that I myself murdered my 
uncle. Tom’s face gave no signs of emotion during 
the whole course of the recital, but he seemed 


HARRY DEE. 229 

buried in thought throughout and in the end un- 
satisfied. 

“Mrs. Dome,” he said at the conclusion, “you 
have been very brave and noble, but there is one 
circumstance connected with the murder which was 
the strongest circumstance, I am sorry to say, in 
throwing the suspicion upon you, and which I am 
sure Harry has forgotten all about in his excite- 
ment.” 

“ What was that ?” she asked. 

“ On the night of the murder, fifty thousand dol- 
lars disappeared and have not been accounted for.” 

Mrs. Dome started to her feet, ashen pale. 

“So they thought me a thief, too. Oh! why 
didn’t I know this before? It wasn’t mentioned in 
the papers at the time. So strange! It is possible 
that Harry may have taken the money in his sleep. 
We read of that in books. People in their sleep hide 
money and remember nothing of it when they 
awake.” 

“Another thing, Harry,” continued Tom, turning 
to me with a broad grin: “that ghost you saw was 
the greatest numskull of a ghost on record. Think 
of a ghost coming to the murderer and persuading 
him to swear that he’ll bring himself to justice. 
Worse than that, think of a ghost wanting justice to 
be inflicted on one who wasn’t responsible for what 
he did. God and the law are at one on this point, 
that what a person does in his sleep cannot be im- 
puted to him as a crime. And just the same, your 
uncle is as unreasonable in the other world as he 
was in this. Even if the clock hadn’t made it plain 
that your ghost-story was a dream, this story would, ” 

I nodded assent. 


230 


HARRY DEE, 


“The next thing is,” continued Tom, “to find out 
something about that money.” 

“Til go there this summer, Tom, and look it up 
all over the premises. If I hid it, it is doubtless 
there yet. As everybody who knew that the money 
had disappeared suspected the murderer, no search 
was made for it, so it’s all but certain that the 
money’s on the premises.” 

“ Could I trouble you, Mrs. Dome, to repeat that 
part of your adventures where you fell senseless up 
to the time when you sprang to your feet?” asked 
Tom. 

Mrs. Dome repeated that episode in substantially 
the same words which she had used in telling it to 
me. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Tom suddenly. 

“What’s the matter, Tom?” I asked. 

“We’ll talk about it on the road back; I want 
time to think. It seems to me that I’ve got a new 
light.” 

Further comment on the mystery was cut short by 
the arrival of the little ones. 

“Harold,” I said, “how would you like to go to 
St. Maure’s College?” 

“What! The big boarding-school?” cried Harold. 

“Yes. Percy, Tom, and I go there.” 

His eyes sparkled with joy, but his face fell as he 
looked at his mother. 

“Who’ll take care of mamma?” 

“She won’t need your help after this, Harold. 
The fairy prince owes her a big lot of money on his 
uncle’s account, and your mamma won’t have to 
work hard any more.” 

It was a touching scene when the little lad with a 


HARRY DEE. 


231 


cry of joy ran to his mother, caught her in his arms, 
and pressed his cheek against hers. Louise, of 
course, could not stand idly by and allow Harold to 
do all the loving. She added herself to the group 
in no little haste, and a very sweet domestic tableau 
it was. 

“ Is it all right, mamma ? Can I go ?” 

“You don’t want to go at once, Harold. It is now 
near the end of the school year. Perhaps it would 
be better to wait until next September.” 

“ Don’t you think it would 'be well for him to 
spend the month of June with us, Mrs. Dome? 
June is a great month at our college,” said Percy. 

“Yes, Mrs. Dome,” put in Tom, “the boys have 
very nice practices in regard to devotion to the 
Sacred Heart, and Harold will be all the better for 
what he will learn on that point alone.” 

It was settled, then, that Harold should join us at 
St. Maure’s on the following Monday, which was 
June ist. 

A little before twelve we bade our friends a cor- 
dial farewell and set out smartly for St. Maure’s. 

“ It’s strange,” I began as we passed out of the 
village, “ that I should have hidden that money. 
Just think of fifty thousand dollars lying unused for 
all these years.” 

“I don’t believe you did it,” said Tom. 

“What? Surely you can’t suspect Mrs. Dome 
after what you have seen and heard ?” 

“ No, Harry; and what’s more, since the night we 
spent in your uncle’s house, it’s been my suspicion 
that Mrs. Dome ran away to save you. I’d have 
told you my opinion, only I didn’t see any way of 
^iccoqnting for the money. But there’s no doubt to 


HARRY DEE, 


232 


me, or to Percy either, that you were right in your 
feelings of love toward Mrs. Dome, and her story 
has given us what it is now stylish to call a ‘clew.’ 
Harry and Percy, mark this ” 

Tom stood still and caught me by the arm. 

“ She had a sort of nightmare. She heard heavy 
steps as of your uncle coming to kill her — the steps 
of a grown person stealing along. When she sprang 
to her feet she could not hear them anymore. Now, 
it’s my strong belief that she actually did hear the 
real steps of a man or woman — remember, she was 
half-conscious — and if you can find out who that 
man or woman was you’ll find the thief who took 
the fifty thousand dollars.” 


CHAPTER XXVIH. 


IN WHICH TOM PL A YFAIR SURPRISES US. 



OM,” I exclaimed, when I had recovered from 


1 the surprise which this view of the case gave 
me, “do you really think that the money was taken 
by some one else after I had caused my uncle’s 
death ?” 

“ More than that! I think — otherwise I don’t see 
how everything squares — that the person who stole 
the money saw you kill your uncle; that that person 
was in the hall when your nurse came out to meet 
you; and that that person stole away while your 
nurse was examining your uncle’s body.” 

“Tom!” exclaimed Percy, “you’d make an ex- 
cellent detective.” 

“I hope to make something better,” said Tom 
gravely; “and that brings me tp the very subject I 


HARRY DEE. 


233 


intended talking about when we started. This mur- 
der business threw it clear out of my head. You’ve 
both heard me speak of James Aldine? Pretty often, 
too. Oh, you should have known him! He was 
more of an angel than a boy. He was too gentle to 
live, in fact. Well, before he died he told me a 
great many things about himself — he had offered up 
his life for my recovery, a life, too, he had intended 
to consecrate to God. James died the very morning 
I made my First Communion ; and as I knelt over his 
body I promised God that with His blessing I’d 
take James Aldine’s place.” 

“And you have taken it, Tom,” put in Percy fer- 
vently ; “ you’ve taken the place of any possible boy. ” 

“ ‘Am I never to be permitted to soliloquize?’ ” 
said Tom, quoting from “ The Mikado. ” “ Evidently 
you don’t understand what I meant by my promise. 
James intended to give his life to God by working 
for God; since the death of James I’ve prayed and 
prayed every day that I might be deemed worthy to 
take his place. And last Christmas, as I was pray- 
ing before the Tabernacle, I got a distinct call, as I 
thought, to follow Christ. Boys, this summer I’m 
going to join Keenan.” 

I caught Tom’s hand and shook it cordially, and 
was warmly congratulating him, when we were both 
silenced by Percy’s strange manner of receiving this 
news. For Percy, instead of joining me in con- 
gratulating our dear friend, of whom we were both 
so proud, had put his hands before his eyes. 

“Surely you’re not sorry, Percy,” I exclaimed, 
“that Tom is choosing the more perfect life?” 

“Of course he’s not,” whispered Tom. “He’s 
too saintly for any such view as that.” 


234 


HARRY DEE. 


“Sorry!” exclaimed Percy, taking down his hands 
from his tearful eyes and catching Tom’s hands. 

“Of course you’re not,” said Tom, gazing ear- 
nestly into Percy’s face. “ But there’s something or 
other troubling you.” 

“There is,” answered Percy. “ Up to this present 
year it had been my darling wish to take the course 
you’re going to take, Tom. But this year it’s all 
changed. Oh! if you only could know how I’ve 
suffered. Tom and Harry, pray forme. I need your 
prayers very much.” 

I do not think that even Tom had ever before 
heard Percy complain. And now there flashed upon 
me, for the first time, one of the awful mysteries of 
life. Here we were three boys on the most familiar 
footing with one another. I had thought that I 
knew my two friends thoroughly, and yet for years 
the one idea of Tom, the mainspring of all his 
actions, had been to take the place of a departed 
friend. And Percy, the gentle, the good, he, the 
prefect of the sodality, whose days had been made 
up of noble thoughts — he had been suffering silently. 
I saw between his words the desolations and tempta- 
tions which God so often sends upon those who are 
dearest to Him. And in that one moment of insight 
I remembered how often during the course of the 
year Percy had been closeted with his confessor. 
Yes, this saintly young man had gone on treading 
the wine-press of doubt and difficulty alone, and in 
this solemn moment had shown us that for all his 
happy, lovable ways he had tasted the bitterness of 
temptation and trial. Truly “we myriad mortals 
live alone.” 

“Boys, let’s change the subject,” said Tom after 


HARRY DEE. 


235 


a few moments of silence. “These are things to 
think about. They are songs without words. Harry, 
I doubt whether it will be worth your while to ex- 
amine your uncle’s house till your lawyer has ascer- 
tained a few little facts.” 

I looked at Tom inquiringly. 

“ To begin with — who took the fifty thousand dol- 
lars? That’s a great point. Besides the advantage 
of getting the money back, the thief will be able, 
perhaps, to tell you where you got that knife and 
give you some details about the way in which you dis- 
patched your uncle. Your lawyer should collect data 
to account for all the servants in the house, their 
whereabouts, their way of life — if any of them took 
the money the way they have since lived will make 
it clear. A servant with fifty thousand dollars ” 

“OTom!” exclaimed Percy. “Is it quite cer- 
tain that there were fifty thousand dollars stolen?” 

“That’s a fact! Caggett said so, but was he 
lying? It’s certain there was some money taken, 
because it’s certain that Mr. Dee always kept a 
large sum in his room. But fifty thousand dollars, 
now we begin to think about it, is putting it rather 
high.” 

“Perhaps,” said I, “it was even a larger sum. 
Whose footsteps were they ? How about Caggett ?” 

“Hardly Caggett’s,” said Tom. “If we assume 
for the sake of argument that he stole the money, we 
must also assume as extremely probable that he 
saw you kill your uncle. Now, it strikes me that 
Caggett, in that case, unless he’s a genius in cunning, 
would be the last man to accuse you of the murder. 
And yet he was the very one who did. Again, 
Caggett was the man who made the biggest fuss 


236 


HARRY DEE. 


about the stolen money. I think, Harry, that there’s 
more to be found out yet. It’s a problem. And 
I’ve no doubt that before very long you’ll succeed 
in making it out.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


IN WHICH MR. LANG OBTAINS FURTHER DATA CONCERN- 
ING THE MISSING MONEY AND TOM BIDS US FARE- 
WELL. 



HAT very night I dispatched two long letters. 


1 one to my father, the other to Mr. Lang, 
our lawyer, giving them a full account of the inter- 
view between Mrs. Dome and myself, and asking 
Mr. Lang to study up the records of the servants 
who were in my uncle’s house at the time of my visit. 
I insisted particularly on his finding out, if possible, 
whether my uncle actually had fifty thousand dollars 
in his possession. The following day I wrote again 
to my father, who, during my minority, had charge 
of the property and moneys accruing to me, and sub- 
mitted a plan for putting out a certain sum of money 
in Mrs. Dome’s favor and for giving her children 
an education. 

My father’s letter came very promptly. He 
assented to all that I had proposed, and sent a 
bank check to Mrs. Dome on his own account. 

But it was some weeks before I heard from Mr. 
Lang. His letter contained news of importance. 

Dear Sir : — Have traced up Caggett’s record. He became a 
coachman in St. Louis — spent little — then a car-driver, which 
position he retained for a year, when he was discharged for 
drunkenness. Got another position as carriage-driver and spent 
all his money on liquor. The last year and a half he’s had odd 


HARRY DEE. 


237 


jobs off and on, but nothing steady. Has become very seedy. 
Tramps occasionally. One of my clerks managed to meet him ; 
treated him several times. He got this much out of him : that 
your uncle deposited his money in the bank every three weeks. 
I think out of this we can trace up the exact amount in his pos- 
session that night. If you have anything further to communi- 
cate in the matter of Caggett let me know at once. 

Yours respectfully, 

Walter Lang. 

P. S. — If your father has no objections I will now put an ex- 
pert at examining your uncle’s books and papers. Your uncle 
seems to have been a methodical man, and I think we’ll have no 
difficulty in tracing up all the money he took in subsequent to 
his last visit to the bank. I shall write Mr. Dee at once for 
permission. 

On the very last day of school I received the fol- 
lowing: 

Dear Sir : — After an examination of five days expert reports 
that your uncle had at least forty-three thousand five hundred 
and seventy-odd dollars in his room on the night of December 
23d, 18 — . It was nearly three weeks since his last deposit. 
The detectives who took the affair in hand first seem to have 
taken everything for granted. It now transpires that three men — 
James Nagle, a stock-broker; Howard Wilmott, a farmer; and 
Cyrus Smith, a wholesale grocer — were each aware that your uncle 
had a large sum of money about him. Nagle, on December 
23d, accompanied by Cyrus Smith, paid your uncle twenty 
thousand dollars on account in a stock transaction. Wilmott, 
who was in the library at the time, waiting for a receipt for six 
thousand dollars paid for a piece of farm-land, tells me that 
your uncle casually remarked that he’d keep all the money three 
days longer. 

“ In this house ?” exclaimed Nagle. “That’s risky.” 

Whereupon Mr. Dee gave a growl. 

“ It’ll be riskier for the man who comes near me. I sleep 
light, gentlemen; and besides the money under my pillow there’s 
a knife on the chair beside my bed. Besides, the house is locked 
pretty tight.” 

While the presence of the dagger on your uncle’s chair ac 


HAJ^RY DEE. 


238 

counts for your using it, the fact that these two men — I exclude 
the farmer — knew that your uncle had money under his pillow 
makes it necessary for me to study up their record. The stock- 
broker will give me most difficulty. That kind of business is 
so queer. I have already looked up the case of the cook and 
housemaid; they have not taken the money. There remains to 
be investigated, then, the cases of the stock-broker, wholesale 
grocer, and coachman. The latter two I can dispose of in two 
weeks, but for the first I shall need at least two months. 

Yours respectfully, 

Walter Lang. 

It was midsummer when his next communication 
reached me at our lake in Wisconsin. Harry Quip 
and I were engaged in a wrestling contest, when 
Tom, who was dressed in a travelling suit, came out 
with a letter. 

“Mr. Harry Dee,” cried Tom. 

Harry did not enjoy the pleasure of throwing me 
just then, for I broke away at once, hastily took 
the letter from Tom, and broke open the envelope. 
I ran my eyes down the lines. 

“Listen, boys.” 

Dear Sir; — C oachman and grocer are O. K. It now only re- 
mains to trace up stock-broker. If he be innocent, things are 
about as dark as they were before. 

Yours, 

Walter Lang. 

“ The detective is wrong there, ” said Tom quickly. 
“ If your broker and servants and your grocer are 
all innocent, it follows, Harry, that you not only 
killed your uncle, but also stole over forty-three 
thousand dollars from yourself.” 

“So you’re wrestling, are you?” continued Tom. 
“I’ve just weighed myself — one hundred and forty- 
five pounds. You see I want to know how much I 


HARRY DEE. 


239 


change in the Novitiate. I’m five feet seven and 
one-half inches high, and, if I can believe my look- 
ing-glass, the best-looking fellow in the crowd.” 

“Take a walk,” said Harry. “I suppose you 
think you can throw the whole crowd of us.” 

“That’s what,” said Tom. 

“Come on — catch as catch can,” said Harry. 

“I’m in my best clothes,” said Tom apologeti- 
cally, while taking off his coat, “but I’m willing to 
ruin the whole suit rather than stand that. ” 

The next moment he and Harry were pulling 
each other about in the approved style. The con- 
test was brief. 

“If you had six shoulders instead of two,” Tom 
remarked over Harry, “I’d make every one of ’em 
touch.” 

Tom arose, gazing ruefully at his cuffs. 

“They’ll think I’m a tramp when I arrive home 
to-morrow to bid ’em all good-by.” 

“Come on; try me,” said Percy, “and I’ll fix you 
up so that they’ll think you’re an exiled prince.” 

Brute.,'' said Tom, and flew at Percy. 

The struggle began forthwith ; presto, Tom went 
down, but sprang up like a bit of India rubber, and 
the spinning, and swelling of muscles, and quick 
changes of position were resumed. Percy came to 
the ground next, but was up on the instant. Of the 
two Tom was the stronger, but Percy the more 
supple. After seven or eight minutes, both were 
glad to call the contest a draw. 

There they stood, two panting, blushing young 
men, looking, one would think, as though their whole 
lives were bound up in athletics. Yet these two 
friends were about to part, each under the noblest 


240 


HARRY DEE. 


of aspirations. Even as they were wrestling, the 
carriage which was to take Tom to the depot was 
being drawn out from the coach-house. 

Percy now took off Tom’s hat (which Tom had 
just picked up and put on), and producing a pocket- 
comb proceeded to give Tom’s hair a presentable 
appearance. 

In the midst of these operations a happy thought 
struck me. 

“Tom!” I exclaimed, “if I ever recover that 
money ” 

“Which you stole yourself,” interrupted Tom. 

“ I’ll put it out at interest, and if you should need 
it for any particular purpose just let me know.” 

Tom thought for a few moments. 

“I’ll tell you an idea I’ve had for years,” he then 
said. “What we want just now is a good Catholic 
magazine for boys and girls. Instead of having 
Catholic writers growl at the books boys read, we 
must get them to write something that they will 
read instead. American boys don’t care for trans- 
lated French stories, and I don’t blame them. They 
want stories about themselves, and that’s why they 
go to Oliver Optic and Harry Castlemon. Instead 
of running these writers down, our writers ought to 
go to work and give us the American Catholic boy: 
he is the best boy in the world. In ten years or so 
who knows but we might use that money to bring 
out just such stories? One good Catholic story will 
do more than a dozen volumes of snarling against 
books that boys ought not to read.” 

“‘It is better to fight for the good than to rail at 
the ill,’ ” said Percy, employing one of his favorite 
quotations. 


HARRY DEE. 


241 


“Precisely. But as I’m going to take a vow of 
poverty, it wouldn’t be just the thing for me to 
count upon having a big sum in the bank at my dis- 
position. Percy is just the boy to take such an en- 
terprise in hand along with you, Harry.” 

“Tom! you’ve given me my vocation,” cried 
Percy, his face illumined with a smile I shall never 
forget. “ It has come upon me like a flash. Oh! 
you’ve no idea how I have prayed and prayed for 
light. My confessor told me not to think of taking 
the religious state till my mind should clear. It 
has not cleared till now. But now I think that God 
wants me for just such a work. I have plenty of 
money, and if my father has no objections, I shall 
invest fifteen or twenty thousand dollars and let it 
accumulate till I’m ready to start your magazine, 
Tom.” 

“I’m with you, Percy,” I cried. “No matter 
whether that money is recovered or not, I’ll put in 
twenty thousand dollars out of my uncle’s estate.” 

This was no boy talk. Percy’s father was a man 
of immense wealth. As for myself, my uncle had 
left me a fortune of some three hundred thousand 
dollars. 

How quickly the time passed as we discussed, in 
all the glow of roseate youthful hope, the prospects 
for our magazine. 

But alas! the hour of parting came. I still see 
our dear Tom standing upon the rear platform as 
the train moved away, waving his hand and smil- 
ing till a curve shuts off from our view one of the 
noblest, bravest boys 

We were all on the verge of tears. Harry Quip 
changed our emotions in his peculiar way. Taking 
16 


242 


HARRY DEE. 


an ancient slipper from beneath his coat, he threw 
it after the train and burst into sobs. 

The slipper was too much for us! We all relaxed 
into a smile, tear-stained it may be, yet a smile. 

Quip was indignant, 

“ You’re a set of fools !” he sputtered. “ I wouldn’t 
give Tom Playfair for a car-load of fellows like 
you!” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

IN WHICH I HAVE THE DOUBTFUL PLEASURE OF RENEW- 
ING MR. JAMES CAGGETT S ACQUAINTANCE. 

F or Percy and myself, our year in the rhetoric 
class did not run smoothly. We had an excel- 
lent teacher, it is true, and started in with a will. 
But early in November Percy was called home, 
owing to the serious sickness of his mother, and I 
too was called away later. We missed him sorely 
in the class-room and in the yard. Frank Burdock, 
who to his great joy had been promoted to the senior 
division, was inconsolable. Quip, Ruthers, Whyte, 
Richards, and myself formed the remnants of the 
Ciceronians. Harry took Tom’s place as leader, 
and he performed his part well. Yet when we met 
together we missed our two friends, and felt that the 
“old order was changing, yielding place to new.” 

Late in November I received a letter from Mr. 
Lang which bears closely upon the strange adven- 
tures I have yet to relate. Let me put it before the 
reader in full : 

Dear Sir: — After long and careful study am certain that 
stock-broker had nothing to do with making away with that 
forty-three thousand-odd dollars. We must conclude, then, that 


HARRY DEE. 


243 


you yourself secreted the money before or after stabbing your 
uncle. This is the only possible solution, as far as I can see. 
My idea, then, is that all of said money is on the premises. If 
there it can be found. However, before taking any steps in the 
matter, I would like to have a personal interview with you — for 
I wish to make you thoroughly satisfied that I have used all 
human prudence in studying up this very complicated case. Will 
call on you at St. Maure’s, if you wish ; but, as am busy with 
other cases, would prefer it could you contrive to come here. 

Yours sincerely, 

Lang. 

After reading this letter I fell into a brown-study. 
As matters now seemed to look, the facts in the case 
were all phenomenal. First of all, it was improb- 
able that I should kill my uncle with one blow of a 
dagger, even in waking hours. And still in my 
sleep I had .struck him with the nicest precision. 
Again, it was improbable that I should have exam- 
ined his bed and made away with and secreted all 
his money. Were I to tell a stranger these details 
he would laugh at me or brand me as a falsifier. 

There were other difficulties. Did Mrs. Dome 
really hear an adult’s foot-fall in addition to my 
light patter, or was it a part of her dream? 

The evidence gathered by the detective would 
seem to negative the former. But despite all evi- 
dence these doubts still lingered in my mind. The 
desire to solve the mystery of my uncle’s death had 
now become the leading thought of my life. There 
was no risk I would not encounter, no danger I 
would not dare, to arrive at the truth. If necessary 
I was resolved to give not only my money, but also 
to venture my life for the unravelling of this tangle. 
I should state here that for some months past the 
entire management of the case had been intrusted to 


J/ARKY DEE, 


244 

me by my father, who, confined to the house by an 
attack of bronchitis, had been compelled to put 
aside all business affairs. My good father had the 
utmost confidence in me. Of course I consulted 
him on every step; and I must say that he rarely, if 
ever, gave me any advice. 

“Think it out for yourself, Harry,” he would say. 
“You have shown your obedience by asking my ad- 
vice, and I am grateful. Now show your self- 
reliance by choosing your own course.” 

That boy is blessed whose father can teach him 
docility and independence in one lesson. 

As I read and reread this letter I remembered 
the few words which Tom had whispered me as we 
shook hands at the depot. “ Harry, old boy, you’re 
not out of the woods yet with regard to this muddle. 
The time will come when you’ll feel it your duty to 
yourself to go to that house again, and who knows but 
the second visit will bring out more than our first? 
I can’t be with you next time. But you can get a 
better companion; take Percy Wynn. Percy’s as 
gentle as a girl ; but he’s as bold as a lion. He’s not 
afraid of anything in this world or the next, except 
sin. As for ghosts — why, Percy would as soon talk 
to a ghost as to a peanut-seller. You can rely on 
Percy.” It struck me now that Tom’s prediction 
was coming true, and I determined, if I could bring 
it about, that in case I should make another visit to 
the haunted house Percy should be my companion. 

Two days after the receipt of this letter I was 
closeted for six hours with Mr. Lang. His state- 
ments were luminous; not a loophole seemed to be 
allowed for error. I was staggered, and before 
leaving him I was convinced that I had slain my 


HARRY DEE. 


245 


uncle, and made away with a large sum of money 
belonging to myself. 

I was too troubled in mind to return to St. 
Maure’s, and besides my father was very low. I felt 
that my place was by his side. As the days went 
by in the pleasant companionship with my father, 
the conviction borne in upon me by the data of Mr. 
Lang softened into doubt. The old difficulties 
presented themselves. 

“Father,” I said one evening in mid-December, 
“I’m not satisfied with Mr. Lang’s statements.” 

“ Don’t you believe him?” 

“Yes, father; that is, I believe that he believes 
his own conclusions. But I’m not satisfied.” 

“Well, what do you propose to do?” 

“ I propose to spend another night at Tower Hill 
Mansion.” 

“Alone?” 

“No, father; with Percy Wynn.” 

“ When ?” 

“As soon as Percy Wynn can join me, father. 
I’ll send him a dispatch at once.” 

It was now Dec. 20th, and Percy was in St. Louis. 
Without delay I wired him the following message: 

Will you accompany me to the Tower Hill Mansion at earliest 
convenience ? 

The prompt reply came: 

Certainly : we can start on the morning of Dec. 24th. 

Percy Wynn. 

The following morning I received this letter: 

My Dear Harry; — My mother is now out of danger, and it 
will be a great pleasure, my dear friend, for me to clasp your 
honest hand after so long a separation. I’ll be delighted to have 


246 


HARRY DEE. 


your company even for a single night, and even in a haunted 
house. What’s a haunted house, after all ? We’re in God’s 
hands there just the same as anywhere else. “ Isn’t God upon 
the ocean just the same as on the land ?” asks the little girl 
in the poem. Do what we may, we can’t get away from Him, 
nor' lose a hair of our heads without His permission. And so, 
dear friend, we’ll spend Christmas together. 

Were it not for that I’d wish you a million pleasant things in 
this letter. But how much better than cold writing will it be to 
speak to you from my heart and face to face ! 

I have seen Tom. They call him Carissime Playfair” 
{Carissime is short for the vocative “ Carissime frater”). He 
is well, and oh, so happy! He’s more of a wag than ever — but 
when he does stop laughing — which happens seldom — there’s 
such an expression of sanctity upon his features! When he lived 
with us, much as we thought of him, we were entertaining an angel 
unawares. He sends you his dearest love. I have just now written 
him a few lines to let him know where we are to be at midnight 
of Christmas. He will be at a midnight mass; and I’ve given him 
strict injunctions to batter the gates of heaven with storms of 
prayer all during that midnight mass for our intention. You, 
my dear Harry, value Tom’s prayers as I do. He’s an American 
saint. Well, good-by, my dear friend — you have no idea with 
what pleasure I look forward to meeting you. I have examined 
the time-table and find that I’ll reach Sessionsville at seven a.m. 
Your train for Tower Hill Mansion leaves at nine ; so there’ll 
be no difficulty in my calling at your house and making the 
connection. Good-by once more, dear Harry. 

Yours most affectionately, 

Percy Wynn. 

P. S. — Am delighted to hear that your father is so much bet- 
ter, and that the doctor pronounces him to be on the road to 
recovery. Give him my sincere regards. Pray for me as I pray 
for you. ' P. W. 

On Dec. 2 2d I was walking homeward toward 
nightfall, when a man came shambling up to me 
asking for an alms. I was struck, for some inex- 
plicable reason, with his appearance. Clad in rags, 
a battered old hat upon his head, a thick brushwood 


HARRY DEE. 


247 


of beard upon his roughened countenance, he was 
every inch a tramp. His hair, long neglected, was 
iron-gray. But what impressed me most was his 
rugged, forbidding forehead fixed in gloom, and 
bordered below by heavy, forbidding eyebrows. I 
gazed at him for a moment, while he continued his 
entreaties. The air of gloominess about him, by a 
natural transition in my present state of mind, 
brought back the memories of Tower Hill Mansion; 
then in an instant it flashed upon me that no less a 
person was standing before me than my uncle’s old 
butler, Mr. James Caggett. 

My plans were formed on the instant. Here be- 
fore me was the very man who, of all men living, 
was best acquainted with the interior of my uncle’s 
mansion. In case a protracted search were neces- 
sary, who could be a more useful assistant? On the 
other hand, I knew full well that, of all the places in 
the world. Tower Hill Mansion would be the last 
place where Caggett would go of his own free choice. 
In common with the other servants of that ill-fated 
mansion, as I had learned from Mr. Lang, he held 
it was a house of haunted horrors. All the same I 
was determined that Caggett should accompany me, 
if anything short of downright physical force could 
bring it about. 

“ If I’m not mistaken,” I began, “ I am talking to 
an old friend of my family, James Caggett.” 

The bloodshot eyes glanced at me very sharply 
from under their rugged brows, while the forehead 
wrinkled into a hideous frown. 

“Who are you?” he said, with the rasping voice 
which he appeared to have caught the trick of from 
my deceased uncle. 


248 


HARRY DEE. 


“Don’t you remember the little boy who came to 
spend Christmas night with his uncle six years 
ago?” 

Again he looked at me keenly, and I saw, as the 
blood deserted his cheeks, that he recognized me. 

“Yes, I know you — ha, ha, ha!” (what a blood- 
curdling laugh it was!) — “I thought you were the 
murderer once — didn’t I? But I meant you no 
harm. Honestly I thought you did it in your sleep. 
But I was glad when I heard that that she-devil had 
done it and not you.” 

My anger at his allusion to Mrs. Dome almost 
got the better of me. But I held myself in 
check. 

“So you’re in need of help?” I said. 

“ I haven’t had a square meal in three days, sir. 
Things have gone awful hard with me. An honest 
man can’t make a living in these hard times. Yes, 
sir; I’ve been obliged to beg. Couldn’t you get 
me something to do, sir?” 

“Yes,” I answered quickly. “You come to my 
father’s house at eight sharp on the morning of 
December the twenty-fourth, and I’ll give you a job 
that will pay you well, and if you satisfy me. I’ll 
try to help you along.” 

“I’ll be there, sir. Will it be ready money?” . 

“You’ll get a good sum from me on Christmas 
morning. Here are two dollars and a half for your 
present needs. I’d give you more, only I count on 
making it up when we meet again.” 

“ Thank you, sir. [How eagerly he clutched the 
money!] You may be sure that I’ll call on the 
morning of December 24th.” 

His rasping voice still rasped in my ears as I 


HARRY DEE. 


249 


made my way home; and into the disordered dreams 
of that night floated this gloomy-browed, hideous 
tramp, moving about in all the fantastic shapes born 
of unpleasant memories. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

IN WHICH MR. CAGGETT ALLOWS HIMSELF TO BE PER- 
SUADED TO SPEND A NIGHT IN MY UNCLE'S HOUSE. 

I F my dreams were unpleasant on the night of 
the 22d, they were positively frightful during 
the succeeding night. My uncle came and went in 
various loathsomeness of shape. Caggett came and 
went in all the bloated proportions of unhealthy 
dreamland; both, by way of variety, invaded my 
slumbers together, and their harsh, rasping voices 
cut my agonized dream-self like a knife. These 
hideous apparitions were succeeded by moments 
of wakefulness, at which intervals I half repented 
of my morrow’s expedition, and devoutly wished 
that my uncle and his money had never come within 
the sphere of my life. 

At three in the morning I arose in disgust, took 
a cold shower-bath, and composed myself to read. 
After an early breakfast I threw my things into my 
valise, and was taxing my memory to find whether 
anything had escaped me, when I heard a sharp ring 
at the door-bell. Being on the tiptoe of expecta- 
tion I hastened to the door myself and opened it 
upon a boy, who delivered me the following telegram : 

Train delayed six hours. Can’t make it so as to meet you 
at Sessionsville. Will see what I can do. 


Percy Wynn. 


250 


HARRY DEE, 


My heart sank on reading these lines; the dis- 
appointment was keen, and again I was tempted to 
abandon the extravagant project. What ! spend that 
night of all nights, in that house of all houses, with 
that man of all men — Caggett ? The fear and loath- 
ing with which the very thought of this fellow filled 
me is unspeakable. To the reader it may appear 
childish, and, indeed, in a certain way it was child- 
ish. There are impressions made on us in early 
days which many years efface not. In the presence 
of Caggett I was still, so to speak, the small, ner- 
vous, sickly boy not yet in his teens. Yet why 
should I fear him now? I was strong, healthy, well 
developed, his superior in intellectual training, 
nearly his equal in strength. Thus I reasoned; but 
feeling and memory were not to be carried by syl- 
logisms. I was afraid of Caggett — that was clear. 
I was resolved that he should be my companion — that 
too was certain. But I could not bring myself to 
think of spending a single night alone with him. 
Accordingly, within three minutes of receiving the 
telegram I sent a note to Mr. Lang, telling him 
I needed him at once, and unfolding the circum- 
stances that made me request his attendance. I sent 
this note by a special messenger, and after an in- 
terval which, short as it was, seemed an age to me, 
I received this answer: 

Dear Sir: — I regret exceedingly that business of most pressing 
moment, and to which I have pledged myself, will not allow me 
to accompany you on your visit to your uncle’s house. Am very 
sorry, indeed, for am most interested in the case. The best 
thing I can do — the only thing — is to send you the only avail - 
able man I can command — Mr. John Nugent. He is a good 
man, very acute, but young, inexperienced, and as yet much 


HARRY DEE. 


251 

wanting in physical bravery. Hope he will do. It will be a 
good novitiate for him in our line of life to spend a night in 
what is popularly supposed to be a haunted house. With re- 
grets, I am yours sincerely, Lang. 

P. S. — Nugent has given me trouble; doesn’t want to go at 
all. But I’ve put the screws on him. He’ll be at your house 
within a few minutes of this letter. 

L. 

This missive did not raise my already depressed 
spirits. Everything seemed to be going awry, even 
the weather, which had grown ugly. 

A few minutes before eight a young gentleman 
with nondescript clothes, straw-colored hair and 
mustache, and a washed-out complexion, presented 
himself to me as Mr. John Nugent. I was struck 
with his retreating chin, weak mouth, and general 
air of irresolution. 

“I’m afraid,” I said, as I shook his hand, “that 
I’m taking you upon a very uncongenial task.” 

“Oh dear no! not at all. You don’t know how de- 
lighted I am,” and he smiled as men smile when 
they are lost for facial expression. 

“My friend,” I thought, as I gazed into the face 
of the very weak man, “ if unnecessary and inju- 
dicious lying be a passport to success in your pro- 
fession, you’ll stand at the top in a disgracefully 
brief time.” 

Further reflections were cut short by the appear- 
ance of Mr. Caggett; every inch a tramp still, but 
a tramp brushed up as to his shreds and patches for 
a special occasion. 

“Good-morning, Caggett,” and as I spoke I felt 
grateful for the encouraging presence of even the 
insignificant Mr. Nugent; “you’re on time for a 
splendid job. I’ll need your services to-day and 


252 


HAJ^RY DEE. 


perhaps to-morrow, for which I’ll give you twenty- 
five dollars.” 

“ I’m your man,” said Caggett promptly. “ What 
do you want me to do? I’ll begin right off.” 

“ I want to examine my uncle’s house.” 

What a living horror his face became as he took 
in these words! 

“The haunted house?” he gasped. 

“Pshaw! that’s talk,” I answered. 

“ No, it isn’t,” he protested. “ You’ll never come 
out alive.” 

“Nonsense; I spent a night there already, and I 
liked it so much that I’m not afraid to go again.” 

“But I am, and I’ll not go. Lord! to think of 
staying there alone where my old boss was mur- 
dered.” 

“But you’ll not be alone,” I urged. “This gen- 
tleman and myself will keep you company.” 

The horror was still on his face as he repeated: 

“I’ll not go.” 

“Caggett, I need you. I want to search all the 
rooms for a large sum of money. You know the 
house better than any one alive. I’ll make it worth 
your while to go. You’ll get fifty dollars.” 

Was it the fifty dollars which changed Caggett’s 
purpose? I thought so at the time. Perhaps the 
sequel will supply the reader with another and a 
stronger motive. At any rate, after due pause and 
consideration, Caggett asked: 

“Will you give me one pint of brandy to-day, an- 
other to-night, and another to-morrow ?” 

“Yes,” I answered, after reflection; “but mind, if 
you get drunk, you get no pay.” 

He laughed a laugh which was as the swinging 


HARRY DEE. 


253 


of multitudinous hinges, whereat the law-clerk 
changed color, and tugged nervously at his mus- 
tache. 

“You needn’t fear that I’ll get drunk on that al- 
lowance. Well, I agree to go: but remember I’m 
not to be alone for a single second during this 
night.’’ 

“That you may rely upon,’’ I said, “ if you follow 
instructions.’’ 

Thus it came to pass that Caggett, Nugent, and 
myself, a most ill-assorted trio, took the nine o’clock 
train for Tower Hill Mansion, arrived there on a 
gloomy evening, and established ourselves in my 
uncle’s house, to pass a night so full of strange oc- 
currences, so remarkable in its turn of events that I 
shall give it the benefit of at least one chapter to 
itself. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


IN WHICH I GET A LETTER AND MAKE A DISCO FEE V. 

OW,” I began, when we had taken a general 



L\ survey of the whole interior, “I want you 
both to understand what I’m after. I have reason 
to think that my uncle died with over forty thou- 
sand dollars by his side. That money, I have also 
reason to think, is still in the house. Probably it 

is in one of the three rooms ” 

“ I thought,” interrupted Caggett, “that that Mrs. 
Raynor ran away with all the money.” 

“ So did others,” was my answer, “ but later events 
have changed that opinion. As I was saying, I have 
reason to think that if this money is about at all, it 
is probably in my uncle’s library or in his bedroom. 


254 


HARRY DEE. 


or in the room where I slept that night. We’ll be- 
gin by making a thorough search of the library ; then 
we’ll go on either to the room where I slept that 
night or to my uncle’s bedchamber, according to 
the time it takes us to complete our search in the 
library.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Caggett, with his 
frown and rasp in the superlative. 

“Well, you know enough for the present.” 

We entered the library and began the search. 
At first I was amused by the nervous, terrified 
glances of my two companion^. Nugent was con- 
stantly looking over his shoulder, while his fingers 
were flying up and twitching his mustache every 
minute. Caggett was less nervous in his move- 
ments, but by no means less frightened. The pe- 
culiar look of horror to which I have already re- 
ferred was his characteristic expression; his hand 
was cold and clammy, his face pale and drawn. 

All this, I repeat, was amusing at first. But the 
amusement was short-lived. Nothing is more con- 
tagious than fear; and very soon I discovered that 
I too was yielding to fright. Unconsciously I be- 
gan to take an occasional look over my shoulder. 
In short, we were a trio of cowards. Frightened as 
I was, however, I was determined to brave it out. 
In comparison with my companions, I was a hero. 

Despite our condition we effected a thorough 
search of the library. Not a case, not a shelf, 
scarcely a book remained unexamined. Then we 
sounded the flooring and the walls. Here my weak 
friend, the clerk, showed that he was not utterly an 
ignoramus. So interested did he become in tapping 
the walls and partitions that he lost sight of his ter- 


I/ARRY DEE. 


255 


ror and actually put fresh spirit into me. The li- 
brary was a large room, and I discovered when we 
had finished its examination that it wanted but five 
minutes to eleven. 

“Now, gentlemen,” I said, “we shall go to my 
uncle’s room, and examine it in the same manner.” 

But here the wretched Caggett objected. 

“No, no!” he exclaimed, his \K)ice hoarse with 
emotion. “Not that room! Take your own first. 
We can go to your uncle’s in the morning.” 

“ My mind is made up. My uncle’s first.” 

“No! or at least wait here till midnight passes.” 

There was a great fear upon his features. 

“Come on,” I said sternly, catching up the lamp. 

“I’ll not go,” he growled. 

“Very well,” I said, “then I’m going to lock you 
up here alone without light, and besides ” 

“Oh! I’ll go! I wouldn’t be alone here for all 
the money in the world.” 

As he spoke he took a mouthful of brandy. 

How closely these two men clung to me as we 
ascended the stairs together! so closely that I could 
feel that they were trembling, and hear, as I thought, 
their heart-beats. As we were midway between the 
first and second floors, the woodwork upon which 
we trod gave a dismal creak; Caggett jumped with 
fright, and had it not been for the support of my free 
hand would have fallen down the stairs. 

Soon we were hard at it examining my uncle’s 
room. Nugent was now a trifle brave. There was 
something of the detective in him, for he was really 
earnest in the work of finding out every nook and 
cranny of the apartment. Within fifteen minutes 
we had explored my uncle’s wardrobe, his table, and 


256 


HARRY DEE. 


his desk. Then Nugent took the lead. Caggett 
was in a state of terror, which he kept within limits 
by frequent applications to the bottle of brandy. 
After we had examined the flooring he threw him- 
self into a chair, and addressed the detective: 

“It’s no use; if I were you I would sit down. 
We’ll put in our work in the other room. Hadn’t 
we better try the other room now ?’’ he inquired, 
turning to me. 

Neither Nugent nor myself paid him the least at- 
tention. We were both busy sounding the walls. I 
had come within a few feet of my uncle’s bed when 
Caggett jumped to his feet and ran over toward me. 

“For God’s sake!” he cried, “let us leave the 
house now. To-morrow will be the time — to- 
morrow.” 

“Sit down, you coward,” I said sternly. 

He complied, yielding rather to his own terror 
than to my words, and I continued tapping the wall. 

“ Have you ever made a close examination of the 
bedding,” asked Nugent, turning to me. 

“ Tom Playfair and myself took a look at it when 
we were here,” I replied. “But we didn’t spend 
much time at it.” 

“There’s nothing there,” growled Caggett. “I 
made it up myself before I left this horrible house.” 

Nugent, taking no notice of the remark, pro- 
ceeded to throw coverings, pillowcase, and mattress 
upon the floor. 

Scarcely had he done so, when Caggett rose and 
advanced to his side. 

“ Let that bed alone,’ he growled. 

Caggett was an awful spectacle. His eyes were 
bloodshot, and his face was quivering with fear and 


HARRY DEE. 


257 


rage. Nugent was daunted by the horrid sight. 
He stepped back, and stood gazing spell-bound upon 
this wretched figure. 

“Here, Nugent!” I exclaimed. “You try your 
hand at this wainscoting. I’ll examine the bed 
myself.” 

Caggett closed his hands tightly and made a few 
steps toward me, brandishing his fists as he ad- 
vanced. 

“Stand still!” I cried. “Nugent, I call upon you 
to look at this man.” 

Nugent, who had put himself beside me, lifted 
his head, and the two of us eyed the would-be 
aggressor in silence. 

Caggett quailed before our stare. Muttering a 
curse, he returned to the chair and buried his face 
in his hands. 

Suddenly an involuntary exclamation from my 
lips brought the detective to my side. 

“ What’s this ?” I exclaimed, pointing to a letter 
which was pinned to the under side of a bed-slat. 
The clerk, without answering, pulled away the pin, 
and the letter fell to the floor. 

There was a muffled sound from Caggett. 

“Why,” I cried, as I picked it up, “just look at 
this address.” 

Nugent bent over and read: 

Master Harry Dee, 

Present. 

“Get the lamp, Nugent,” I said. “This letter 
looks very old, and who knows but it may have 
come from my uncle.” 

I tore open the envelope, and, as the clerk held 

17 


258 


HARRY DEE, 


the lamp, I read with wonder and dismay such as no 
words can express: 

Dec. 24th, 18 — . 

Nephew Harry: — To-night at twelve o’clock I commit 
suicide. If you should enter this, my room, to-morrow, you will 
find me dead with my own knife in my heart. 

James Dee. 

“ Good God !” I cried, “ am I awake or dreaming. ” 

Nugent took the note from my palsied hand and 
read it with eagerness. 

“What do you think of it?” I asked. 

He handed me back the note, glancing as he did 
so toward Caggett. And again the terror of that 
sight seemed to penetrate Nugent’s inmost being. 

“Look! look!” he gasped. 

Well might he be frightened. Seated beside the 
table Caggett was the personification of horror — his 
facial muscles were twitching madly, his eyes were 
fixed upon us with a glassy stare ; his mouth was open, 
and he appeared to be struggling for breath. It ap- 
peared to me at once that the wretched man had 
been taken by a fit. Placing the lamp on the table, 
just at his elbow, I hastily took another pint of 
brandy from my valise and filled him a small glass. 

“More! more!” he gasped, as he drank it down at 
a single draught. 

I filled him another. 

His terror moderated sensibly. 

“Caggett,” I said, when I was satisfied that he 
was calm enough to converse. “ Look at this letter 
from my uncle.” 

He endeavored to hold the paper, but it fluttered 
from his hands to the floor. 

Picking it up I read it aloud. 


HARRY DEE. 


259 


“Do you understand this, Caggett?” 

There was a fearful play of the muscles about his 
throat and a few deep gurgles as of a man choking 
to death, before he succeeded in forcing out the 
words: 

“ Yes, and it’s true.” 

“What!” I cried, “all these years you have known 
that my uncle made away with himself, and you have 
allowed an innocent woman to be hunted ? But how 
did you come to know of my uncle’s suicide?” 

The same struggling and play of his throat ensued 
before he labored forth the words: 

“ More brandy.” 

I administered him another glass. “That night,” 
he began with an effort, “ I was working in the cel- 
lar till after twelve o’clock. When I came upstairs 
I knocked at his room.” 

He paused to pass his hand over his brow. 

“ There was no answer, and I entered, and then I 
saw your uncle lying in the bed, dead — killed by 
his own knife. On the chair beside him was that 
letter addressed to you. I read it. I took the let- 
ter and hid it in that place where you found it.” 

“Why— why?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“That’s a lie; tell me the reason.” 

“ I — I — I had overheard what your nurse had said 
to your uncle, and I wanted to throw his death on 
her.” 

I was not satisfied with this explanation, the more 
so as his halting way of delivering it gave me reason 
to suspect that he was holding something back. 

“ Now, Caggett, why should you want to throw 
the suspicion on Mrs. Raynor?” 


26 o 


I/AJ^RY DEE. 


“ Because I — I thought people might think I did 
it.” 

“Was that your only reason?” 

Caggett seemed to have fallen into a stupor. 

“Don’t give that man any more brandy,” whis- 
pered the frightened young man in my ear. “ If 
you do, there’s every chance that we’ll have a mad- 
man on our hands. I was a fool to come here.” 
With which Nugent, taking another shuddering look 
at the hideous tramp, turned his back to us and re- 
sumed his examination of the wainscoting. 

“ Caggett,” I repeated, catching him by the shoul- 
der and shaking him, “ was there any other reason?” 

He opened his lips to reply, but though his lips 
moved there came no sound. 

“ Do you understand, Caggett ?” 

“ I intended to steal his money,” he answered with 
an effort. 

I glanced at the detective. 

“Tom Playfair was right,” I muttered. “Mrs. 
Dome did hear real footfalls besides my own, and 
here is the thief.” 

“No,” said Caggett. “When I got here the 
money was already stolen.” 

I looked at him earnestly; he seemed to be speak- 
ing the truth. 

“Mrs. Raynor stole it,” he added. 

“You wretched villain,” I broke forth, “if you 
ever speak of Mrs. Raynor in that way again ” 

“Look! look,” Nugent suddenly broke in. 
“ Here’s something!” 

I ran to his side. Kneeling beside the bed, which 
he had moved out from the wall, he was gazing into 
an opening in the partition, evidently much fright- 


HARRY DEE. 


261 


ened at the discovery he had made. The opening 
revealed a recess about one foot square. 

“How did you find this?” I asked. 

“I — I touched something or other ; it must have 
been a spring, and a part of the wainscot rolled 
back.” 

As Nugent seemed utterly unable to proceed fur- 
ther, I gently shoved him aside. He fell sprawling 
as though I had struck him with a club. Putting 
my hand into the secret recess, I drew out a heavy 
wooden box open at the top. Bringing it nearer to 
the lamp I perceived almost at a glance that I was 
holding a fortune in my hands. Bank-notes of all 
values, gold and silver, every species of money. The 
missing treasure was found. 

But who had placed it in this unknown hiding- 
place ? It must have been my uncle. Could it be 
possible that he had deliberately secreted the large 
sum before committing suicide? This train of 
thought brought me back to Caggett. 

Why had he thrown the awful suspicion of murder 
on Mrs. Dome? Ah! it was true that he himself 
had wished to make away with the money. I 
turned to address him. 

As I was about to speak, the clock in the hall, 
which, I had taken care to set early in the evening, 
broke into a peculiar whirring noise, at which sound 
Caggett gave a nervous start, and in moving his 
arm struck the shade of the student lamp. The 
shade moved several inches. It was connected with 
the wick, and in turning lowered it so that we were 
at once in a dim, ghostly light. 

Caggett did not know that he was the cause of 
the darkness, and as the clock struck the first stroke 


262 


HARRY DEE, 


of the hour of midnight he sprang to his feet with a 
low, horrible gasp and fell upon his knees, facing 
toward my uncle’s bed. 

Nugent, whose fears had been mounting with every 
moment since the discovery of the letter and the 
treasure, gave a wild cry, rushed to the door, and 
clattered down the stairs. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

IN WHICH CAGGETT MAKES A STARTLING DISCLOSURE, 
AND I PASS THROUGH THE GREA T CRISIS OF MY LIFE. 

T here beside the faint light of the lowered 
lamp, in presence of a kneeling man writh- 
ing with agony, I stood horror-stricken. It was a 
terrible moment — terrible in its present features, 
more terrible still in what it promised. Caggett 
was looking with a strained gaze not at the bed but 
at something on a line with it. His hands were 
alternately clasped, then thrown out from his body 
as though he were waving off some hideous vision. 
Inarticulate gasps and groans were laboring from his 
throat, gasps and groans beastlike in their sound, 
with the added human agony of a man beside him- 
self with terror. I did not know it at the time; but 
I am now certain that, as Nugent had predicted, he 
was crazed with drink. 

I would have come to his help; but I was no 
longer master of myself ; and for what seemed a long 
span of time I stood motionless, gazing with awe 
upon this uncanny sight. 

At last Caggett burst intb speech : 

“O Mr. Dee! Mr. Dee! You made me do it! 


HARRY DEE. 


263 


Go away — for God’s sake don’t look on me that 
way,” and he waved his hands madly. I looked in 
the direction of the bed, almost expecting to see the 
luminous spectre of my uncle. But I saw nothing. 

“It was all your own doing, Mr. Dee; you drove 
me to it. Didn’t you tear up the will which made 
me your heir? I was listening, and I knew you had 
over forty thousand dollars with you. I couldn’t 
help it — I didn’t mean to kill you!” 

Imagine my state of mind when I heard these 
words. It was a murder after all, and I was alone 
with the murderer. 

“Before God, I didn’t mean it! I stole up here, 
and tried to get your money without waking you. 
But you opened your eyes, and recognized me. 
Then I seized your knife and — oh! keep off — keep 
off ” 

He gave a wild cry, and fell foaming at the 
mouth. 

With an effort I freed myself from the spell 
which had bound me, and turning on the full light 
of the lamp I hastened to Caggett. There he lay, 
the embodiment of remorse and terror, his mouth 
still covered with foam, his eyes glassed in horror, 
every feature hideous beyond all human features I 
had ever seen. There he lay — my uncle’s murderer. 
I could scarcely bring myself to touch this inani- 
mate clot of crime. How my soul sickened as I 
put my arms about this dreadful man and placed him 
on my uncle’s bed! 

I returned to the table, and seated myself. Seri- 
ous as I feared was the condition of that man of 
blood, I could not bring myself to touch his loath- 
some body again. Even his stertorous breathing 


264 


HARRY DEE. 


filled me with disgust, and yet I realized that I 
would be obliged to spend several hours, at the very 
least, in his company; nor, as the time passed on, 
did my feelings of loathing lessen. To add to my 
disquietude, I found gradually that I was fascinated 
by that still figure on the bed. I could not with- 
draw my eyes from his face, though with every 
second that face seemed to take on additional re- 
pulsiveness. 

At length, unable to endure the situation longer, 
I brought a chair to the table and set about counting 
my treasure-trove. I spent quite a time in separ- 
ating the gold, silver, and the bills of various de- 
nominations; but presently I found that I was in 
no frame of mind to carry out my intention. Then 
I began pacing up and down the room, keeping my 
face turned from the bed, endeavoring to put Cag- 
gett out of my mind, and forcing my thoughts into 
lovelier channels. I thought of Percy ; how I longed 
for the presence of that dear friend! I thought of 
Tom, our little Jesuit. By this time, Tom must 
have heard midnight mass, and it comforted me to 
think that his prayers were with me and helping me 
even now. JVow. That one word brought back the 
ugly present realities; brought back Caggett and 
all the hideous train of thought I had endeavored 
to put aside. Yes; I was at length sure of the mur- 
derer; sure, too, of the money so long lost. But 
how about my uncle’s note announcing his intention 
of committing suicide? How, too, did it happen 
that the money had been secreted ? Certainly my 
uncle, as I knew from the data furnished me by 
Lang, had not been in the habit of hiding his money. 
Had he actually intended to commit suicide, only 


HARRY DEE. 


265 


to be killed by his villainous servant before he could 
carry out his purpose? If so, why then had he con- 
cealed the money ? But I scouted the thought that 
my uncle had contemplated making away with him- 
self. I remembered my last interview with him; 
I remembered his kind words, and I felt convinced 
that, if he had written the note directed to me, it had 
been written previous to our interview in his bed- 
room; and that his intention had certainly been 
changed. 

For several hours did I ponder and consider, en- 
deavoring vainly to piece these contradictory cir- 
cumstances into a consistent whole. At length, 
wearied and troubled, I paused in my walk, and 
turned my face toward the open window which 
looked out upon the east. The first faint gray 
streaks of dawn were upon the horizon. I stood for 
some moments gazing upon this joyous promise of 
daylight. But I found presently that Caggett’s fig- 
ure was again asserting its horrible fascination: and 
once more I turned my face to the wall, and, seat- 
ing myself, I forced my thoughts to dwell upon the 
sweetest memories of Christmas. 

I believe that all boys take pleasure in thinking 
of Bethlehem and the angels’ songs. It is a series 
of beautiful tableaux for young as well as old. At 
all events, I became very interested in these tender 
memories, and I actually made what Catholics call 
a meditation. My imagination grew vivid, and I 
almost saw the dear Infant, the sweet Mother, al- 
most saw that multitude of the heavenly host prais- 
ing and glorifying God; almost saw the great light 
which cast such holy fear upon the shepherds; al- 
most heard the heavenly chorus singing Gloria m 


266 


HARRY DEE. 


excelsts Deo — when suddenly (why I do not know, 
unless it be that I have a guardian angel) the vision 
faded, and by some impulse, which I do not attempt 
to account for, I turned my head sharply. I was 
not one moment too soon. As I turned, I noticed 
in the very act that it was sunrise, and the sun, 
bright and cheerful, was peeping over the eastern 
hills. This I noticed in a flash; but the fact of 
sunrise had no interest for me at that moment. The 
bed was empty! Caggett, on tiptoe, had advanced 
half-way across the room. His evil eyes were fixed 
upon me in a way there was no mistaking ; in his right 
hand he grasped an open knife. The knife almost 
escaped my attention, but the eyes! I read in them 
that I was not to leave the room alive. 

You may be sure I didn’t stop to stare; for as I 
took in the situation I bounded to my feet, while 
Caggett, throwing aside his attempt at stealthiness, 
sprang at me with a fierce cry like the cry of a sav- 
age beast in its most savage moment. 

Fear lent me agility. In a trice I had placed the 
table between myself and him. Oh, how I re- 
proached myself that I had neglected to bring a pis- 
tol ! I was face to face with a man stronger than 
myself and more accustomed, I had good reason for 
thinking, to deeds of violence; he was armed with 
a knife; I was unprotected. My heart sank within 
me, for I realized that the chances were in his favor. 
I thought of making a dash for the door, but it was 
evident that before I could turn the knob his knife 
would be in my back. Again I thought of picking 
up a chair, and fighting him with that weapon. But 
this would involve a hand-to-hand conflict — a thing 
I was resolved to avoid as long as possible. 


HARRY DEE. 


267 


For my great hope was in getting assistance from 
without. That cowardly law-clerk might, after all, 
have heart enough in his chicken-breast to return, 
once it was broad daylight. His return was my 
strongest hope. I resolved, therefore, by putting 
the table between Caggett and myself, to keep him 
at a distance as long as possible. What a tragic 
chase it was! With his eyes fixed steadily upon 
mine, Caggett played me as an angler would play a 
fish. With the coming of day his bravery had re- 
turned ; and it was the fierce bravery of desperation. 
His terror had disappeared as completely as the 
shades of night. The deadly purpose which animated 
him could be read in his every feature, and most 
legibly in the rigid determination of his compressed 
lips and heavy lower jaw. Our actions, were it not 
for our facial expressions, might have impressed an 
observer with the idea that we were playing a game 
of “tag. ” Round and round we moved about the 
table, anon with guarded step, anon with sudden 
dashes. His every movement, slow or rapid, his 
every pause, was my guide. As he moved, I 
moved; as he paused, I paused. How long this 
grim game went on, I cannot say ; it seemed at 
times to be of interminable length; it seemed at 
times to have gone on but for a few seconds. What- 
ever the length of time, we were soon breathing 
heavily. I could feel my heart beating in a way 
that under ordinary circumstances would have 
alarmed me; but placed as I was, I was too excited 
to be sensible of fear. It was in one of these 
pauses, when I stood stock-still, separated by the 
length of the table from my adversary, that there 
came upon the stillness, thus far broken only by 


268 


HARRY DEE. 


our heavy breathing, a crashing noise; and with 
it the room grew suddenly quite dark. For the mo- 
ment Caggett was disconcerted; he turned suddenly 
in the direction whence the noise came, and I took 
advantage of that one moment to seize the lamp 
from the table, and send it with all my force at his 
head. The noise that had alarmed Caggett so much 
was occasioned by the falling of the window curtain, 
which, owing doubtless to our violent motions, had 
broken from its fastening above the window. As I 
had been facing in that direction, I had taken in the 
circumstance, without being obliged to turn my eyes 
from my enemy. 

But quick as I had been in hurling the lamp at 
Caggett, I was the least bit late. As he ducked his 
head, the lamp went crashing against the wall, 
within a few inches of the curtained window, and 
burst into a thousand fragments. 

With a sharp hiss Caggett made a dash round the 
table: I was almost too late in recovering myself ; 
and indeed, as I darted away, the blade of his knife 
touched my coat. The throwing of the lamp had 
given me a new idea. Upon the table there still 
remained the box, heavy with its store of coins. In 
passing around the table I seized it, determined to 
await my opportunity to throw it at his head. But 
here I made a fatal mistake. The box was heavy 
and cumbrous. Once in my hands, I discovered 
that I had to rid myself of it, or be caught in a 
few moments. I hesitated between replacing it or 
throwing it at Caggett. It was probably the hesi- 
tation of half a second, but my decision, as the se- 
quel will show, was unfortunate. I threw it at Cag- 
gett’ s head. At once Caggett ducked beneath the 


HARRY DEE. 


269 


table; and while the papers and notes went flutter- 
ing about the room, and with a thousand jingles 
the silver and gold fell and rolled in all directions 
upon the carpetless floor, mingling confusedly with 
the fragments of the glass; and while I stood mo- 
tionless, waiting for Caggett’s head to reappear — I 
suddenly felt a strong clasp upon my left ankle. 
Caggett had crawled under the table to my side. 

On the instant I screamed out, “ Help! help!” and 
with all my energy I broke away. 

I succeeded in tearing myself from his grasp; but 
at what a cost! I lost my balance, fell headlong, 
and though I sprang to my feet without waste of a 
moment, there was a sharp, stinging pain in my left 
leg just above the ankle, where Caggett’s knife had 
penetrated. At once my plans were changed. Delay 
on my part would now be dangerous, for the blood 
was streaming from the wound; and I grimly fore- 
saw that with loss of blood I would presently become 
weak and dizzy — and then all would be over. The 
issue must be at once, and, therefore, as I gained my 
feet I turned and sprang upon Caggett, catching him 
above the wrist of his right hand, so as to prevent 
his stabbing me, and bearing him, with the force of 
my spring and the unexpectedness of the onset, 
heavily to the floor. Then there resulted a fearful 
struggle. He was under me, glaring at me with 
that same murderous look, and despite all my efforts 
prodding me here and there about the shoulders 
with his knife. I put both hands to his wrist, and 
held it firmly, while the blood came trickling down 
my arm and fell upon his upturned face. 

And very soon what little confidence I had was 
gone; for I felt my strength leaving me. Strange 


270 


HARRY DEE. 


noises — did they come from within or without? — 
broke like the beating of drums upon my ear. The 
firmness of my grasp relaxed, and as a feeling of in- 
tense lassitude came over my frame the full horror 
of my situation flashed upon me. 

I endeavored to pray, and in the act heard, as I 
fancied, quick footfalls without. Perhaps help was 
nigh. The thought seemed to revive my strength; 
and indeed I needed it all. Catching Caggett’s 
hand, which had just escaped me, I arrested what 
might have been a fatal stroke. The struggle was 
renewed ; and as it went on I was certain that some 
one was coming. I felt now that my grasp upon 
him was losing its firmness — and then the door burst 
open, and a figure, so dim had my eyes become that 
I failed to make out who or what it was, bounded 
into the room. I saw an arm strike out once, twice 
— and then I slipped into unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

IN WHICH PERCY WYNN THROWS ADDITIONAL LIGHT 
UPON CAGGETTS NARRATIVE, AND PUTS AN END TO 
THE MYSTERY. 

“UALLO, Harry! Merry Christmas.” Percy 
1 1 was bending over me with a scared face. 
“Thank God! thank God!” I whispered. “Is it 
you, Percy, that saved me? I never counted on 
looking upon your dear face again.” 

“Yes, Harry, without boasting I can say that I 
saved your life. Caggett had you down, when I 
struck out at him.” 

I attempted to rise from the bed on which I was 


HARRY DEE. 


271 


lying, but found I could scarcely lift my head, so 
stiff and sore was I from cuts, bruises, and loss of 
blood. I gave a gasp of pain, and sank back upon 
the pillow. 

“Poor boy,” said Percy, “you mustn’t try to 
move again. I’ve spent over an hour bandaging 
you, and if you move my bandages will come loose. 
Be patient fora while; I’ve sent fora doctor for 
you, and a constable for Caggett.” 

“Where is he?” I inquired, trying to take a full 
view of the room, and noticing in the effort that the 
bed was stripped of blanket, coverlet, and sheets. 

“He’s in the room next this — the wretch! But 
you wouldn’t know him. I’ve bundled him up in 
blankets and sheets — they were the nearest things to 
rop«s I could get — till he can’t move hand or limb. 
He’s such an awful sight, though, that I thought it 
would be pleasanter for you to miss seeing him.” 

“ But, Percy, you haven’t told me how you came 
to save me.” 

“ It’s a long story, Harry. I went on the prin- 
ciple ‘better late than never,’ and took the evening 
train after paying your father a visit. I got to the 
depot beyond about three-quarters of an hour before 
sunrise; and I found standing there, solitary and 
stupid, an insignificant looking little man, who 
seemed to be in a state bordering on insanity.” 

“Oh, Mr. Nugent!” I put in. 

“Yes; I got his name out of him in about the 
time that an ordinary dentist would have extracted all 
his double teeth. I plied him hard with questions, 
and I’m afraid I shook him a little roughly, poor 
fellow, before I could get the least inkling of the 
way things had been going on here. He gave me 


272 


HARRY DEE. 


the idea that Caggett was dead because of the 
ghost, and that you were dying. I didn’t wait for 
anything more, but set off for the house at a dead 
run.” 

“Six miles! did you run all the way?” 

“ Pretty much. When I got in sight, though, I 
was content to walk; I came on, getting nearer and 
nearer, when, as I was within three or four hundred 
feet of the house, I heard a cry, ‘ Help! help!’ ” 

“You heard me, Percy.” 

“ So I thought ; and then you should have seen 
me run; I beat my record that time, and came 
bounding into the house, and up the stairs. I could 
hear an awful rolling and tumbling going on — and 
guided by the sound I made for this room. Caggett 
was just about to stab you. The two blows I gave 
him were cruel; he dropped over to one side like 
a log.” 

“But, Percy ” 

“There now, lie still; you needn’t get excited. 
I’ve lots more to tell you, you see. I know the 
whole story; Caggett told me everything.” 

“How?” I exclaimed incredulously. 

“Oh, he didn’t want to; but I persuaded him. 
At first when he came to, and found himself tied up 
in sheets and bedclothes, he wouldn’t talk at all. 
But I saw that he was nervous, and I thought that 
by taking him on his weak point I might get all 
the news out of him. I took it for granted, of 
course, that he was the murderer.” 

“ How did you work on his nerves, Percy?” 

“ Oh, it was quite simple. I cocked a pistol and 
put the muzzle against his ear, and said: ‘Mr. 
Caggett, will you be obliging enough to answer a 


HARRY DEE, 


273 


few questions?’ And Mr. Caggett became very 
obliging all at once; for he professed himself will- 
ing and ready to answer any and all questions I 
might put to him. Tnen 1 took the pistol away 
from his ear, and began patching you up, poor boy, 
while I put him through a long examination. 
Would you like to hear the first and complete edi- 
tion? He told me all that you know, and I’m sure 
you’re puzzled still.” 

” Where did you get the pistol ?” 

“ Right here in this room. I found it in Caggett’s 
pocket, and it was loaded, too. I could see that by 
the way Caggett acted when I pressed it against his 
ear. By the way, Mr. Caggett, I believe, will never 
be hanged for the murder. What drinking has left 
undone in ruining his health the terror and the 
wounds and what-not of this night have accom- 
plished. The wretched man will probably never 
leave his bed again.” 

“Tell me what he told you, Percy.” 

“Well, be quiet; you’re weak. You knowhow, 
once upon a time, your uncle destroyed a will in 
your presence which favored Caggett, and read one 
in your favor. Your nurse claimed fifty thousand 
dollars from your uncle ; said she’d have it, and made 
some remarks about your uncle’s not living long. 
Caggett overheard every word. He had a trick of 
using a keyhole. He became very angry, and made 
up his mind to get something out of your uncle. 
He knew that Mr. Dee had a large sum of money on 
his person (forty-three thousand dollars), which he 
would place under his pillow at night, and he 
determined to get that money and fly the country. 
He did not make up his mind to kill your uncle — 
iS 


274 


HARRY DEE, 


that was an after-thought. At twelve o’clock he 
stole up to Mr. Dee’s room, advanced on tiptoe to his 
side, and tried to get the money. But here began 
all the trouble. There was no money under Mr. 
Dee’s pillow. Caggett examined very cautiously, 
and without disturbing the sleeper; he knew your 
uncle generally slept with it under his pillow; but 
on this particular night of all nights there wasn’t a 
trace of the money.” 

“ Was the dagger there ?” I broke in. 

“Yes; it was quite convenient to your uncle’s 
hand.” 

“ Where was the money ?” 

“In the place you found it,” answered Percy. 
“ You understand, don’t you? It’s plain that your 
uncle anticipated some danger or other that night, 
and hid those things away.” 

“ Ah!” I exclaimed. “ He suspected that Caggett 
might atternpt to rob him. ” 

“ Precisely ; knowing Caggett pretty well, it might 
have occurred to him that his servant had been 
eavesdropping and might attempt to visit him that 
very night. Anyhow, whatever was the reason of 
his suspicions, he was justified in the event. Well, 
to go on, Caggett began a systematic search of the 
room. Of course he didn’t find the money; for, 
till a few hours ago, he didn’t even know anything 
of that secret recess. Finally he approached the 
bed again, and was about to renew his search, when 
your uncle suddenly opened his eyes, gave a gasp, 
and whispered, ‘Who’s there ?’ and as he spoke he 
caught Caggett’s arm. Caggett with a jerk released 
himself, and, as your uncle gave a cry for help, he 
caught him by the throat, choked him into silence. 


HARRY DEE, 


275 


and grasping the dagger, which had slipped from 
your uncle’s hand, plunged it into his breast. Would 
you believe it, Harry? that villain told me this as 
though he was speaking on the state of the weather. 
Having assured himself that your uncle was dead, 
the wretch walked over to the table, and turning up 
the light — your uncle, it seems, always slept with a 
light burning low — he wrote a note in imitation of 
James Dee’s handwriting, announcing ” 

“Ah,” I gasped, “there’s more light.” 

“You saw the note already, Harry; Caggett told 
me. But to return to our story. Caggett had just 
blotted and sealed this, when he heard a footstep 
without. Scarcely knowing what he was doing and 
certainly not knowing why, Caggett hastened over 
to the bed and pinned the letter where you found it. 
Then he brought out a pistol and, cocking it, 
waited. The steps drew nearer and nearer. Caggett 
waited motionless. Then, Harry, you appeared — a 
little boy in your night-shirt. You stopped for a 
moment on the threshold, and, as Caggett says, 
looked straight at him. That was very near the last 
of you, old boy. Caggett picked up a heavy walk- 
ing-stick, and advanced with the intention of brain- 
ing you. But, instead of drawing back, you walked 
right in. He remembered then that he had heard 
you were a sleep-walker, and lowered his arm. You 
kept on your course, walked past him and stopped 
at your uncle’s bed. You passed your hands over 
your uncle’s face and breast, and even touched the 
knife. In leaning against the bed, Caggett saw that 
you had dabbled your night-shirt with blood. This 
suggested a new plan to him. You were a somnam- 
bulist; it would appear that you in your sleep had 


276 


HARRY DEE. 


murdered your uncle. Resolving to destroy the 
letter he had forged next day, Caggett stole on his 
tiptoes out of the room, and made his way hastily to 
his own sleeping-room, which was half-way down 
the hall.” 

“Ah!” I exclaimed, “his were the footsteps that 
my nurse heard.” 

“So I think, too. Well, he had not been in his 
room half a minute, when he heard some one else 
coming along the corridor. He put a chair beside 
his door — there was no light in his room — and looked 
through the transom. He saw your nurse, who was 
very agitated, carrying a lamp in her hand, and 
then he saw the meeting between you and her. He 
watched your nurse’s movements until she left the 
house; and then he felt sure that no suspicion would 
fall on him.” 

“ Did he give up the search for the money?” 

“No, indeed; after Mrs. Dome left the house he 
spent a part of the night in searching your uncle’s 
room. Even when all else had deserted the place 
he continued his search for several days. On the 
last day he was severely frightened in some unac- 
countable way, and left precipitately, vowing never 
to come near the house again.” 

“ He didn’t keep his vow,” I observed. 

“No; the fact was, when you announced your 
intention to him of making a search for the money, 
he remembered how in the hurry of leaving he had 
neglected to destroy the forged letter. Then it 
occurred to him that, if the money were found, he 
was entitled to it. Mr. Caggett is a poor logician. 
These considerations, added to your promise of 
money, overcame his fear. He counted on destroy- 


HARRY DEE, 


277 


ing that note, to begin with; and in the next place, 
if the money was found, he was determined to make 
off with it.” 

“ Have you seen the treasure, Percy ?” 

“Yes; after removing Mr. Caggett I gathered up 
the scattered contents of that box. I never handled 
so much money in my life. It took me a long time 
to get it together; for I had to keep my eyes on you, 
and be on the lookout for some passer-by to get 
assistance. When I did get it all together, I brought 
the box by your side, Harry, and counted out the 
money, and watched you closely for ever so long a 
time. Do you know how much you’ve fallen heir 
to ?” 

“ How much ?” 

“Forty-five thousand and some odd dollars.” 

“Isn’t that a Christmas gift!” I exclaimed. 
“Within a week, Percy, those forty-five thousand 
dollars will be put in a bank ; and there they’ll grow 
to more in preparation for that great boys’ and girls’ 
magazine that is to be. Percy, allow me to return 
your first greeting — I wish you a happy Christmas.” 

And as we shook each other’s hand we heard 
voices without, and people entering, and we knew 
that the mystery of Tower Hill Mansion was solved, 
that the problem had been made out, and that the 
shadow -which had wrapped my life thus far had 
been lifted forever. 


278 


HARRY DEE. 


* 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

m WHICH HA RR Y DEE HA S SOME DIFFICUL TV IN BRINGING 
HIS STORY TO A CLOSE. 

I T is August ist, one year and eight months since 
the adventures related in the last chapters. Ar- 
rayed in all the glory of graduating costumes, several 
very fine young gentlemen are seated in the parlor of 
the Jesuit Novitiate. The reader knows them all. 
He knows Harry Quip, grinning from under the first 
hint of a mustache. He knows Percy Wynn, who 
has taken the gold medal for excellence in the 
various branches of the philosophy class. He knows 
Frank Burdock, the only non-graduate present, now 
quite tall, and with a face eminently intellectual. 
He knows Will Ruthers and Joe Whyte — and as 
there comes a quick patter down the stairs without, 
and there enters, clothed in cassock and biretta, a 
handsome, dark young man, with bright twinkling 
eyes and merry face, he knows Mr. Playfair, S.J., 
who has taken his three vows and is now a religious. 

What a chorus of babble and laughter arises, as 
we shake our dear friend’s hand, and congratulate 
him on his happiness! For it was only yesterday 
that Tom, impelled with the desire of serving God, 
and trusting in His infinite sweetness and mercy,^ 
vowed in presence of the most sacred Virgin Mary 
and the whole heavenly court, poverty, chastity, and 
obedience. 

“ It’s the happiest day of my life, almost,” said 
Tom — I should say Mr. Playfair. “And if it were 
not for yesterday, I think I could say it is the hap- 
piest. “Well, Harry, it’s consoling to think that 


I/AKRY DEE. 


279 


Caggett aft^ all died penitent. The poor fellow 
had a long year’s purgatory in the hospital, and his 
sickness and suffering proved to be the greatest 
blessing of his life. And how’s the new magazine ?” 

“Strong in I answered. “The money is 

safely invested, Tom; and it can wait better than 
Percy and I. We feel like making a start at once; 
but we’re determined to be prudent.’’ 

“ I hope to be a member of the staff, Tom — I mean 
Mr. Playfair,” said Quip, feeling for the down upon 
his upper lip. “You see, I’m thinking of taking to 
journalism — that is, if I take to anything.” 

“And I,” said Joe Whyte, “ intend to study law.” 

“Will Ruthers, who looks so mild and gentle, is 
going to be a sawbones,” added Quip grimly. 

“What are you thinking of, Frank?” asked Mr. 
Playfair. 

“My present vocation,” answered Frank, “is to 
graduate. Then I think I’ll marry.” 

“After which,” put in Quip, “he’ll look about to 
see how he can support a wife.” 

“I’ve got stock in a building association,” said 
Frank seriously. 

“These graduates are great fellows, Mr. Playfair,” 
said Percy. “ They’re starting in at once, all ex- 
cept Harry Dee and myself.” 

“Don’t believe Percy,” said I. “He’s doing 
the work of three, even now. He’s the best friend 
of poor boys in the world. There’s not a newsboy 
or a bootblack in Cincinnati who doesn’t know and 
love him. He’s studying up the lives and condi- 
tions of that class, and he intends giving much atten- 
tion to bettering the poor fellows, and he’s done 
ever so much good among them already, though 


28 o 


HARRY DEE. 


he’s only had a chance of making their acquaintance 
the last two months.” 

I did not add what was the fact, that Percy was 
looked upon by many a homeless lad as a saint. 
They loved him, but their reverence kept pace with 
their love. Percy had not forgotten his adventure 
with the dying tramp. His great heart was filled 
with love and compassion for God’s chosen ones, for 
the poor and the outcast. He was determined to 
help them on, beginning with the little ones, on 
the theory that all reforms are best effected from 
below up. 

“Very soon,” said Percy, changing the subject, 
“ Harry and I shall take a trip to Europe.” 

“What then, Percy?” asked Mr. Playfair. 

“Oh, we’ll settle down, and take a special course 
of literature and philosophy. You see we intend 
preparing a longe for the great magazine that is to 
be. Harry Dee purposes, in addition, to study 
finances. We’ve settled it between us that he’s to 
be business manager and I the editor. We have 
concluded not to make any start till we’re thirty 
years old or so; and in the mean time there’s a 
big sum of money gathering interest.” 

“ By the way, where is Mr. Keenan ?” 

“He’s out on a walk,” said Tom. “But I think 
he’ll be back soon. But there’s another friend of 
yours here.” 

“ Who ?” came the chorus. 

“Guess,” answered Mr. Playfair. 

Before we could make answer the door opened 
and — 

“Oh, Mr. Middleton!” 

There stood our beloved teacher and. prefect beam- 


HARRY DEE. 


281 


ing upon us with his old-time smile. He had changed 
but little, though his face wore more markedly 
that expression which may be noticed in those whose 
thoughts have been constantly turned upon sacred 
things. 

While we were still welcoming him, Tom called 
out : 

“ Boys, that’s not Mr. Middleton. He’s Father 
Middleton. He was ordained July 31st,” 

There was a solemn silence. 

Each of us knelt, and Father Middleton, passing 
from one to another, gave us his priestly benedic- 
tion. 

What a delightful time of it we had that morn- 
ing! Old memories — pleasant and fragrant they 
were — came back again. We fought our battles 
o’er, and talked and laughed with an abandon which 
sent time flying on the swiftest and lightest of 
wings. 

Harry Quip presently mystified us not a little. 
He called Father Middleton aside, and went off with 
him, we knew not whither. 

When he returned after half an hour he made up 
for lost time. He talked, and joked, and laughed 
till Frank Burdock brought him to a stand by say- 
^ing: 

“ Harry, have you been drinking?” 

“ No,” said Harry. “ It’s worse.” 

“ Let’s hear your confession, then,” said Mr. Play' 
fair. 

“ I just made it to Mr. Middleton — Father Middle- 
ton — a general confession of my whole life.” 

Harry was now quite serious; so were we; we 
saw that something more was to come. 


282 


HARRY DEE. 


“And besides I’ve had a talk with the novice- 
master.” 

“Oh, Harry Quip!” exclaimed Percy. 

“He’s of the same opinion as Father Middleton; 
and in a few days I’m going to join Donnel in the 
Baltimore Seminary.” 

“Well, Harry Quip,” exclaimed Percy, grasping 
his hand warmly, “you always were a lucky fellow. 
Here you go and get one of the sublimest of calls, 
and leave Frank and Harry and Joe and me out in 
the cold.” 

Percy was smiling as he spoke, but there was sad- 
ness in both smile and voice. 

“Well,” said Harry, “you fellows deserve to be 
left out in the cold. When Tom went away you 
didn’t throw an old slipper after him. I did, and 
now I’m thrown after the slipper.” 

Perhaps the reader may think I am exaggerating; 
but it is a fact that before dinner Joe, Percy, Frank, 
and myself contrived to hold a secret interview 
with our saintly Father Middleton. But none of 
us came from it with the abounding joy that Harry 
had carried away; still all of us, I trust, were more 
at peace with ourselves and with God after our inter- 
view. We did not, like Harry, find a great vocation, 
but we received such advice as Father Middleton, 
who knew us so well, judged best for our interests. 

When I returned from my conference with Father 
Middleton I found that another young religious had 
joined our little reunion. 

“So this is Harry Dee,” he exclaimed, with the 
most engaging of smiles, as he grasped my hand 
warmly. “I know you very well, Harry; though 
probably you have never even heard of me.” 


HAJ^RY DEE. 


283 


“Yes, he has, Carissime^" put in Mr. Playfair. 
“All my St. Maure’s chums know you pretty well. 
What a pity we’re not allowed to have pillow-fights 
here.” 

“What!” I burst out, “Arthur Vane?” 

“The same,” laughed Arthur. “ I’m the youngest 
novice in the house.” 

“He came to pay me a visit several months ago,” 
said Mr. Playfair, “and fell in love with this place. 
We could hardly get him out. He came back in 
two weeks to stay.” 

“And now I’m happy,” said Arthur, “and I look 
upon the night I met Mr. Playfair as ihe night of 
my life.” 

During the hour that preceded dinner Percy and 
Arthur became warm friends. They struck me as 
being remarkably similar in their tastes and 
manners. 

In the afternoon Tom rearranged the “Blue 
Clippers.” Our genial friend Mr. Keenan played 
his old position, and, pressing into our service 
Frank Burdock and Arthur Vane, we put out a full 
nine which Tom as of old led to victory. The young 
religious pitted against us played very well, but — 
well, we played better. 

The time came but too quickly for our departure. 

“Boys,” said Mr. Playfair, as we were about to 
leave the parlor, “ before you go, suppose we visit 
the master of the house.” 

Somewhat mystified we followed Tom. He led us 
into the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. Frank, 
Harry, Joe, and myself kneeled upon the bench 
farthest back in the chapel ; Tom and Percy were in 
front of us. Impressed with the occasion, I was 


284 


HARRY DEE. 


praying with more than usual fervor, when I felt a 
light touch upon my arm. 

I lifted my head and saw Frank. “Look,” he 
said reverently, “ isn’t it beautiful ?” and he pointed 
to the kneeling figures of Tom and Percy. The 
evening sun was shining upon them, mingling the 
glory of earth with the heavenly glory that seemed 
to play about their faces. To look at them, as they 
then appeared, was as powerful an object lesson in 
prayer as this earth can give. Yes; before them, 
concealed by the tabernacle, was the one sweet secret 
to their sweet lives. It was the Incarnation that had 
made Tom our Tom, and Percy our Percy. 

We were on the eve of separating, and taking 
different walks in life; but, different as were these 
walks, they were all to conduct us, we trusted, to 
the same goal — to an everlasting union with Him 
before whom we were now bowed in fervent adora- 
tion. 


THE END. 


Printed by Benziger Brothers, New York. 



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